


The Unwilling

by Aukum



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Canon May Joss This, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Mystery, Slow Burn, Titan Marco Bott
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 114,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aukum/pseuds/Aukum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Titan/Shifter Marco AU. </p>
<p>It started small, with things going missing only to turn up again later, but it escalated quickly. Resupply orders going missing. Stockpiles on routes outside the walls being sabotaged. It looked like there was a spy in their midst but there were no leads... not until Jean stumbles across a familiar name in an unexpected place. </p>
<p>What are the odds that there'd be two Bodts enrolled in the military?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story branches off immediately after the end of the first anime. I take later developments into account (like how titans work) but pretty much everything else is ignored.

“Hey, Sasha? Remind me again why we're sitting in a ditch in the middle of the night.” 

“Because Captain Levi told us to,” Sasha replied immediately. 

Jean dropped his head into his hands and groaned. He shifted his weight and tried to find a comfortable position as the mud squelched around his boots. He desperately wanted to lie down and take a nap but there was no chance of getting rest of any sort, not crouched in a muddy ditch that was pocked with puddles of putrid smelling water. Sasha had been quick to claim a relatively clean melon-sized rock stuck partway up the bank and refused to relinquish it for any reason. Jean had been left to fend for himself and with Captain Levi supervising the inane operation, Jean didn't dare to sit down in the mud no matter how much the muscles in his legs were screaming. 

“Why us?” Jean whined, his voice muffled by his hands. “Did we do something wrong? I honestly can't remember doing anything worth this sort of punishment.” 

Sasha groaned “me either” as she stretched. 

“Then are we scapegoats?” Jean's hands fell into his lap. He stared up at the sky but with all the clouds in the way, the night surrounding them was like a solid black wall that was only broken up by tiny pinpricks of light on the horizon. One of the lights in the distance belonged to the Scouting Legion.

“I don't think so,” Sasha said. “None of us even had the time to get into trouble lately.” She tapped her chin with a finger. “Well, I guess maybe Eren could've... nah, he's way more scared of Captain Levi than any of us. He wouldn't dare. Then, hm... hazing the new recruits?”

Jean shook his head. “I'm pretty sure that facing titans are a better hazing ritual than anything they could come up with.” 

“Then I'm all out of ideas.” Sasha turned her attention from the darkness they were assigned to stare at so she could watch Jean's reaction. “Did Armin tell you anything?”

Jean's hands tightened into fists before relaxing with the sort of slow deliberateness that suggested a conscious effort to appear unaffected. He rubbed the open palms of his hands against the cold and shivering muscles of his legs. He didn't answer. Instead, Jean stared straight ahead at the night as he tried to restore circulation to his lower extremities without actually moving. 

“It stinks,” Jean said gruffly.

Sasha laughed and slapped his shoulder. “Quit complaining about the smell and answer the question.” 

“I was,” Jean said, looking up at her with a faint curve to his lips. 

Sasha made a non-committal noise in her throat and rest her chin in her hands, waiting for an answer. 

That slight easing of tension in Jean's face was what passed for a smile these days. She thought it was a little worrying, to be honest. Everyone was happier back when they thought that the breech of Wall Maria was a freak incident but Jean seemed to take the near destruction of his hometown and the loss of their year-mates in stride. He had always been grumpy when they were Trainees – it was one of the reasons Sasha preferred to keep her distance, not really getting to know him until they joined the Scouting Legion – so it didn't seem like anything was amiss for a long time. Jean became more subdued and unwilling to voice his opinions but Sasha (all of them, really) chalked it up to him growing older and more mature. 

Her eyes followed Jean's hand as it started to drift toward the breast pocket of his jacket before falling to his thigh with a slap. Sasha pressed her lips together and wrinkled her nose. It wasn't until times like these, when Jean was trapped in the company of someone else for hours on end, when the cracks began to show. The least she could do as his friend was pretend she didn't notice. 

“This reminds me of that stupid mission to catch Ann- the Female Type,” he finally said. 

“Yeah?” Sasha prompted. 

“I can't shake the feeling that there's more going on here than we were told.” Jean cupped his shaking hands over his mouth and blew on them. His breath drifted away like smoke. “I don't like it.”

“They'd tell us if it was really important, right?” Sasha said with a nervous smile. 

Jean shifted his attention back to the lights on the horizon. 

“Hey,” Sasha reached out and tugged on his shoulder. “Don't just go all quiet like that. If you know what's going on, tell me!” 

Jean allowed himself to be shaken by Sasha, whose voice was rising in pitch the longer he remained silent, and pretended to be keeping watch as ordered by Captain Levi for reasons he refused to divulge. He wondered what he could tell her. Jean was just as baffled by their orders as she was and she should already know that, since they received their orders at the same time. 

But at some point between graduation and their elevation to full-fledged members of the Scouting Legion, many of his former classmates came to the conclusion that if they wanted to know what was really going on, then Jean Kirstein was the one to ask. Not Armin, who was more observant and intelligent than some of them gave him credit for. Not Eren, who had access to the ears of the top brass of the Scouting Legion and sat in on many of their meetings. But Jean Kirstein. They acted like he had access to some kind of top-secret source of insight when all he really possessed was a sharp tongue and blunt pessimism.

“I'm as clueless as you are,” Jean said wearily. “Nobody tells me anything either.”

Sasha shook her head. “You've gotta have a theory at least. Quit holding out on me. I promise I won't tell anyone!”

“Nope, no dice.” Jean snapped, “Give it up already, would you? I honestly have no damn idea why we've been stuck hiding in a ditch for the last couple days. And what are we even supposed to be looking for, anyway? What good is 'you'll know when you see it' if we can't see shit?” 

“I'll let you sit on the rock if you tell me,” Sasha offered. Clearly, she was not above bribery to get what she wanted. The offer shouldn't have sounded as tempting as it did.

Jean groaned and dropped his face in his hands. He didn't know why she was being so stubborn and persistent. It was the truth that he was left completely out of the loop. There was only one time when Jean had been privy to mission details that weren't given to all rank-and-file soldiers. Once. And Jean suspected that the only reason he was included in the plan to corner the Female Type was out of a misguided sense of responsibility to honour Marco's memory, or something. Armin just wanted to do something nice for the friend of his friend, that's all. 

But beyond that mission? Nothing. He was just another soldier in the eyes of their illustrious commanders. 

Jean shook his head. 

“I won't complain if you want to be a pal and give it up, but you're not going to get anything in return.” Jean pointed at the lights in the distance. “Those guys don't trust me any more than they trust you with their top secret plans.” 

Sasha drummed her fingers on her knee and pursed her lips. “I'm not talking about that anymore. I'm asking if you had any theories. You know, did you hear enough stuff to figure out what the bosses are trying to hide?”

“Stuff?” Jean echoed. He shifted his weight again as he considered the question. 

Did he actually hear anything strange lately? News took a long time to reach the Scouting Legion's isolated location at the best of times. If there was exciting new gossip from the interior then it hadn't reached the ears of anyone that Jean knew. In truth, everything he heard was pretty boring so he shrugged and said so. 

“All I hear are complaints about supplies running low and that the quality of everything is dropping.” Jean shook his head. “But that's not unexpected since the Scouting Legion doesn't exactly have a good reputation or track record. Hell, I'd be more surprised if someone isn't cheating us.”

Sasha grinned and mimed shooting a gun. “There we go! I knew I could trust your cagey mind.”

“Huh?” 

Jean had no idea what she was getting at but he wasn't about to argue with the good fortune of finally getting a chance to sit down. He immediately moved to occupy Sasha's spot before she could change her mind. 

“Do you have no body heat at all?!” Jean yelped when he realized that the rock was still ice cold. 

Sasha shrugged. “Guess my butt's more insulated than yours, city boy. You can give it back if you can't take it.”

“Like hell I am!” Jean scowled. “Anyway, what were you getting at?”

“Huh? Oh, that!” Sasha drew nonsense patterns in the air with a finger and her voice took on a sing-song quality that was usually reserved for reciting things from memory. “No army will march on an empty stomach and a hungry soldier is a distracted solider, so you've gotta stay fed if you want to stay alive.” 

“Okay... sure? Makes sense. But what does that have to do with why we're stuck out here?” 

Sasha gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Even in the low light it was easy to see just what was going through her mind when she reached out to give Jean a condescending pat on the shoulder. Jean bristled and slapped her hand away. It wasn't his fault that he was one of the few lucky enough to be born and raised in the safety of one of the inner wall districts.

“C'mon, I though you were one of the smart ones!” Sasha rubbed her hand sullenly. “The Scouting Legion's supposed to be getting some of the best food and stuff that humanity has left to offer. If the bosses suddenly can't get what they need then of course they're going to get worried and tell us to do something about it.” 

“And that 'something' is Captain Levi rounding everyone up and ordering us to camp out here until whoever's cheating the Scouting Legion shows up?” Jean scrubbed his hands through his hair and growled, “This is such bullshit. That can't be all there is to us sitting out here and freezing our asses off.” 

Sasha didn't bother answering. All of their conversations eventually circled back around to wondering why they stuck here but at least this time she managed to get something new out of the exchange. Something was going very wrong in the Scouting Legion's supply chain and the newest members were all assigned to do something about it – not even Eren managed to escape sitting in a ditch duty. 

Everyone was assigned a partner and given a specific stretch of road or field to stare at until something happened. Normally they would have been allowed to choose who they wanted to work with but, in the interest of preventing slacking off, Captain Levi made sure that everyone ended up with someone they got along with but was not particularly close to. Many of them complained to no avail – which was why Sasha ended up with a sullen Jean who was glaring at the night as if it had personally offended him. 

“Hey! Where are you going?!” Sasha hissed. 

Jean looked at her with a blank expression. He managed to make it several meters away and half-way up the embankment before Sasha noticed that he was no longer sitting quietly behind her. Their orders were explicit: don't do anything to give away your position. Jean turned away.

“Taking a walk,” he mumbled. 

“I don't care how bored you are. Get back here before someone sees you!” She jabbed a finger at the ground beside her.

“Relax, I'm not like you. I won't get caught.” Jean's voice drifted back to her from where he disappeared over the top. 

“Hey!” 

Sasha jumped to her feet and started to scramble after him but Jean's form was already almost completely swallowed up by the starless and moonless night. He was moving away from their assigned location with quick and purposeful strides toward something that Sasha couldn't see. She hesitated with one foot on the side of the ditch, prepared to run after him, before coming to a decision. She turned around and sat back down. 

If he wanted to get himself in trouble with Captain Levi then that was his choice and Sasha didn't want any part of it.

* * *

Jean cut across the field in a meandering route that was vaguely similar to a search pattern. He had no intention of actually looking for whatever it was their commanders were so worried about, but if he was questioned about his actions later then at least he'd have a half-way plausible excuse. He was trying to show some initiative to get the job done, sir. Honest! He definitely didn't leave his position because he was bored out of his mind and the smell was making him dizzy.

He was almost certain that he'd be able to bluff his way out of trouble. Sasha just needed to keep her big mouth shut and Jean was reasonably sure that he could trust her to keep quiet. After all, her attitude toward self-preservation was pretty similar to Jean's and telling on him would mean allowing her own actions to be scrutinized. Sasha was already on Captain Levi's radar for numerous little infractions. She didn't want to actually land in his bad books. None of them did, really. 

Except for Jean, it seemed.

He never thought he was the suicidal type, and yet here he was. Defying the orders of “humanity's strongest” so he could go a walk in the countryside at night. And it wasn't even a very nice night for a walk either – the sky was completely dark and it seemed like his feet were magnetically drawn to every divot and animal burrow in the ground. This was not what he imagined life in the Scouting Legion to be like. 

After stumbling and going sprawling in the dirt again, Jean swore loudly and emphatically. 

“Fuck this mission. And fuck that runt! Levi can take these stupid orders and shove it up his ass!” Jean grabbed the offending rock that had caught his foot and hurled it at the night with all of his strength. “Fuck this, I'm going home.” 

Jean kicked the lumpy ground for good measure and shoved his freezing hands in his pockets. 

“They don't pay me enough to deal with this bullshit. If they don't like it, then too goddamn bad. I'll put in a transfer request to Garrison if I have to,” he fumed. 

Jean just started walking toward the distant lights of civilization when the rock finally came down. It struck something wooden with a loud and hollow-sounding thump. Wait, hollow? Jean turned around as his ears picked up the faint sound of a voice yelping in surprise. It didn't sound like anyone currently on ditch-sitting duty. 

Did he manage to hit the jackpot? 

...Or did he just manage to hit some hapless bystander? Maybe he should forget about investigating and just run for it. Nobody would know it was him who threw the rock. Nobody... except Sasha, who would definitely rat him out if he accidentally injured some poor schmuck. Damn. 

Jean crouched low, using the overgrown wild grass to mask the brightness of the uniform's pants as he followed the trajectory of the rock back to the sound's source.

Stealth wasn't originally one of Jean's strong points. It still wasn't, in many ways, but he managed to learn a few things by watching the unexpected master of quietly sneaking away: Marco. Marco was a generous soul with good marks in academics and even better marks in the practical sections. That made him a highly sought after commodity by many of the lazier trainees. But, most importantly, Marco was constantly pestered because was the smart kid who was NOT accompanied by two fierce bodyguards who were eager to fend off any and all attempts to leech off his intelligence with their fists. 

He only had one, sort of, and Jean didn't like to follow him around like a jealous stalker.

Marco defended himself by learning how to fade into the background on command. He even got really good at it near the end, although he never used his talents for nefarious purposes like Connie or Sasha would have. He only used it to get peace and quiet by sneaking off to hide behind Jean's sharp tongue and Jean's unfounded reputation as a thug. It wasn't like he wanted to refuse, Marco would claim with a completely fake apologetic smile that (for some baffling reason) nobody else was able to see through, of course not! But he already promised to do... something... with Jean so they should take up their grievances with him, so sorry.

As for Jean, he learned how to not startle when surprised. 

This was arguably the more useful skill in the Scouting Legion but Marco's skill set was coming in handy now because through the gloom of night, Jean could see something. He could just make out the shape of a dinky push-cart loaded high with some nondescript standard-sized shipping boxes. There was a canvas tarp of some sort draped over the boxes that sloppily tied into place with rope. It wouldn't keep the boxes from tumbling off if the cart tipped, but it did keep Jean from seeing any company insignias stamped on the sides. Leaning heavily against the side of the cart and clutching at its chest was the unmistakable silhouette of a person. 

It wasn't moving. 

Shit, Jean thought, did I actually hit someone? 

And now he was back to wondering if he should check on the person or make a run for it. If it was just some bystander who was out late, then Jean should absolutely go out there to make amends. But if it was whoever it was that Captain Levi and Commander Erwin were intent on tracking down, then Jean should stay where he was. Maybe he should even follow the person back to where they were taking the Scouting Legion's stuff. Or something. They weren't very clear on what should be done if they actually found something. 

Jean was saved from making a decision by that slouched figure. 

It straightened up and rubbed its shoulder with a weary sort of groan. It didn't sound pained, like it would've if Jean's aim was that good, but more tired like whoever it was really wanted to go to sleep. He could sympathize. Jean didn't want to be out here in the middle of the night either, but neither of them couldn't get what they wanted. 

There was a break in the clouds that was just large enough to cast dim starlight over their position. Jean leaned forward and squinted at the figure, trying to commit as many details to memory as possible. The mystery person was pretty tall and, from the look of the shoulders and waist, probably male. Dark hair. Hideously ugly glasses, or maybe goggles like the prescription ones with the strap that Hange Zoe wore. A scarf of some sort was wrapped around the lower half of his face and knotted beneath his chin. The guy was also wearing a dark button-up jacket that reached his hips and ill-fitting pants that were a little too small. 

Or maybe they were supposed to be that size. 

Jean watched the guy stretch to grab the rock from where it rolled between the boxes and decided that whoever that guy was, his ass was fantastic and Jean couldn't fault him for wanting to show it off. The guy made a triumphant noise and stood with the rock that Jean threw in his hand. He looked up at the sky with a quizzical tilt to his head, as if wondering where it could have come from, before shrugging and tossing it aside with gloved hands.

Jean sat back on his heels. 

What to do?

The guy was definitely suspicious, but not enough to justify jumping out of the bushes and tackling him to the ground while screaming for backup. The guy could have a perfectly innocent reason for completely covering up all of his skin, like not wanting to get frostbite. It had been unusually cold lately. But what if this guy was the Scouting Legion's legitimate supplier and the actual poachers were hanging around nearby? On the other hand, if Jean left him alone only to find out later that this WAS their man, then he'd never hear the end of it. 

I'll let him go, Jean decided. 

It was too dangerous to confront the stranger on his own. It didn't look like the stranger was armed but didn't mean the guy wasn't dangerous. Jean didn't know enough about what was actually going on to make a judgement call on whether or not he should stop the guy. And more relevantly, the Scouting Legion was not Garrison or the Military Police. They had no authority to actually stop anyone from committing crimes. Implied orders be damned, all they told Jean to do was keep watch so that was exactly what he was going to do.

He just prayed that he wasn't making a mistake. 

Jean watched the guy push the overloaded cart down the road until their forms were no longer visible in the darkness. It took longer for the sound to fade away to nothing. Once he was certain that they were gone, Jean stood and slowly made his way back to where Sasha was waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm mostly writing this for my own amusement because I wanted to read a very specific type of Marco Lives / Titan!Marco AU but nobody was reading my mind and producing it, so I decided to write my own. I wasn't going to post it but, well, I'm easily convinced to do things.
> 
> So, anon from kinkmeme who asked so nicely, hope you enjoy it too.
> 
> One more thing: I planned everything out around the chapter where they introduced New Squad Levi. So far, the manga hasn't revealed anything that directly contradicts my plan (instead, it fits in nicely) but that could change quickly. That "might get Jossed" tag is there for a reason, after all. :P


	2. Chapter 2

To his surprise, nothing there were no repercussions for deserting his post. It was a little disappointing. The only thing Sasha did when Jean returned was glare at him furiously before pretending that he didn't exist for the rest of the night. She maintained her silence up until the next morning when all of the weary recruits were finally allowed to return to the Scouting Legion's field headquarters so they could give their reports and get some rest. Sasha disappeared the moment they set foot inside the main building, leaving Jean to give the report on what they did or didn't see on his own. 

He wasn't sure if he should be grateful or furious. 

There was nothing to keep him from giving a highly edited report of what happened that night. On one hand, the conversation with Sasha stirred up a lot of uneasiness and Jean couldn't stop wondering what the larger picture was. What if he got an innocent man in trouble because the Scouting Legion wanted a scapegoat? Jean would never be able to live with himself if that happened. On the other hand, what Jean saw could be vital to whatever the top brass were looking for. It would be wrong to withhold information. 

But in the end, Jean didn't tell Captain Levi what he saw. 

Jean walked into the room that Levi claimed for his own personal use, prepared to repeat every detail of his almost encounter with the stranger on the road when prompted. He stood at attention and watched as their illustrious Captain lounged in in a comfortable looking plush chair, looking very well rested with a steaming hot cup of something in one hand and an open newspaper in the other. Levi didn't look up from the paper once, nor did he make any noise of acknowledgement during Jean's report. 

Jean grit his teeth and thought about how diligently everyone was following the obtuse orders despite the growing exhaustion and frustration. He thought about how the youngest recruits were all forced to shoulder the burden of spending their nights looking for that mysterious “you'll know it when you see it” on top of their normal duties. He thought about how they were supposed to be trying to beat back the Titan menace, not wasting their time pretending to be the police and tracking down petty thieves making off with office supplies and snacks. 

When Levi finally looked up it was with faint surprise in his eyes and, after a brief pause, the Captain barked out, “Well? Where's your report?” 

Jean seethed.

He saluted sharply and said “Nothing worth mentioning, sir” in a properly respectful tone and left. The door clicked shut. He walked past the others, who were drowsily staring into space as they waited for their turn, and continued at sedate pace until he was well outside of eavesdropping range. It was then that Jean allowed himself to get visibly angry but even then, he limited himself to clenched fists and gritted teeth. 

If Captain Levi couldn't be bothered to feign interest in the mission, then Jean couldn't be bothered to repeat what he saw. He wouldn't ask the Scouting Legion to send someone to check if the guy he saw had legitimate reasons to be out that night. He wasn't going to waste his time trying to get someone to listen. 

As of that moment, Jean decided that the guy he saw was now officially “just some guy”. Out in the middle of the night? Trying to transport his goods before the roads clogged up with traffic. Completely covered up from head to toe? Afraid of the cold. Pushing a cart filled with shipping crates that were covered up so the identifying marks couldn't be seen? Didn't want to advertise for the competition. Travelling on a mostly forgotten road without using anything to light the way on a cloudy and moonless night with near zero visibility? Nope, nothing odd there at all. 

It was just some guy. 

Jean reached the door to his room just as his other roommate was leaving. Jean stepped back to avoid colliding with the guy, a Scouting Legion veteran of many years, who glanced down the furious expression on Jean's face as the door swung shut behind him. The older man looked over his shoulder at the closed door. 

“You've got company in there,” said the older man whose name Jean never managed to learn. 

Jean scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned, “Do I want to know who it is?” 

“It's that pony-tailed girl who joined that same time you did,” the guy said. “She seems upset. Wouldn't stop pounding on the door until I let her in.”

“Great.” Jean wondered what she wanted now. “Is Connie there too?”

“He's already asleep in his bed... or pretending to be asleep, anyway. I think she's there to chew you out.” The older guy crossed his arms. “Should I know what this is about?” 

Jean threw his hands in the air. “I don't even know what this is about! I don't know, she's here to make sure I didn't make her look bad in my report?” He sighed. “I really don't want to deal with this right now.”

The older man stared at Jean for a long and uncomfortable minute before breathing out an annoyed puff of air and uncrossing his arms. 

“You look like hell, kid.”

“I feel like hell,” Jean said. 

“Is the mission you kids were given really that tough?” The older man asked with genuine curiosity. 

Jean stared blankly. Did he really not know what they were up to? The mission they were assigned was pretty simple and not one that would warrant a high level of secrecy; “find the people stealing our food and office supplies” was as mundane as you could get. Why wouldn't the other members of the Scouting Legion know about it? More importantly, why didn't his roommate already know about it? The guy was astonishingly well-informed about the inner workings of the Scouting Legion, thanks to leftover trauma from the way he lost the guys who used to occupy Jean and Connie's beds. The guy coped with his loss by becoming nosey as hell so it didn't make sense for him to be in the dark.

Maybe there really was something big going on, Jean thought sourly. It would have to be one hell of a secret if the Scouting Legion's top brass were trying to hide it from everyone from the lowest new recruit, like the 104th graduates, to trusted veteran soldiers, like Jean and Connie's roommate. 

But whatever it was, it was too much for his tired mind to make sense of the pieces lying before him. 

Jean rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. 

“Alright kid, you're coming with me.” The older man put his hands on Jean's shoulders and began steering him down the hallway. 

“My name isn't kid,” Jean protested. “And where are you taking me? My bed is over there.” 

“Somewhere you can actually get some rest,” The guy said. “I get the feeling that the girl waiting for you back there will talk your ear off if you went in.” 

“Sasha's always like that,” Jean said. Although she never specifically sought him out before. She used to always hang out with either Ymir and Krista (when she wasn't looking for trouble) or Connie (when she was). This was new and worrying behaviour. 

Some of his thoughts must have shown on Jean's face because his roommate ruffled Jean's hair in what was probably supposed to be a comforting gesture. Jean wrinkled his nose in annoyance and combed his hair back into place with his fingers. The older man just laughed and slapped him on the back before walking away. 

“Follow me and I'll show you a good place to hide.” 

Jean had to lengthen his stride to a half-jog to keep up with the older man. 

“You still haven't said where we're going and why you're doing this. Seriously, I just want to sleep in my bed. If I have to let Sasha yell at me for a while to do so, I'll do it.” 

“And I'm telling you that you don't need to deal with that right now.” The guy looked over his shoulder at Jean. “Your insomnia's been making you really weird and cranky.”

“What insomnia?” Jean said defensively. “I sleep just fine!” 

“Yeah, no. Try again, kid. I'm not a heavy sleeper like Connie.” The older guy paused at the hallway junction and glanced in both directions before setting off again. He waved a hand to Jean, urging him to speed up. He waited until Jean caught up before continuing where he left off. 

“I heard you talking in your sleep,” his roommate said bluntly. 

“...oh.” Jean swallowed hard. 

“That guy must've been really important to you.” It was a statement, not a question. 

Nosy bastard, Jean thought irritably. But what he said out loud was: “Yeah, he's why I'm here.” 

His roommate hummed and said, “Ah, here we are.”

They were stopped at the end of a long hallway. At regular intervals were locked doors that had some sort of hook screwed into the wooden surface at just above eye-level. It strongly resembled the hallway where their assigned room was, only lacking an identifying name plate attached to the door. Jean guessed that this was an unused residential wing of the Scouting Legion's headquarters. A remnant of the days when morale was high and the personnel turnover rate wasn't quite so horrifying. The utter stillness and sterility of the hallway was unsettling. 

His roommate opened the door and walked right in. Jean followed after a moment's hesitation and halted, eyes wide with surprise. For while the outside hallway showed no signs of human life, it was an entirely different story inside. 

The room itself was only slightly larger than their assigned room but the lack of standard-issue furniture made it appear much bigger. Pushed against one wall was a table surrounded by mismatched chairs and an end-table stolen from one of the bedrooms. There was a pyramid of mugs stacked on the end-table and on top of the table were several decks of cards and a pile of gambling chips sitting out in plain view. The opposite side of the room had a fireplace with a shabby rug in front and a dartboard hanging over the mantle. More mismatched chairs. Near the only door was a small table bracketed by two shelves that were filled with books held upright by miscellaneous 3DMG gear bits and gaudy tourist trinkets. 

But the centrepiece of the room was, without a doubt, the large overstuffed brown couch. 

It squatted in the middle of the room like some kind of ancient beast and was angled to face the shuttered window that took of the majority of the last wall in the room. A pile of colourful and misshapen cushions were crammed up against one arm of the couch and a patchwork quilt made from squares of old knit sweater material was tossed carelessly over the back. It looked as if someone had been sitting there and left not long ago, judging from the books on floor and the half-empty mug balanced precariously on the arm. 

Jean's roommate picked up the mug and set on the floor beside the small pile of books. 

“So? What do you think?” He said with a proud grin.

“It's cozy,” Jean said honestly. “What is this?” 

“A little something that me and the boys set up so we'd have a place to relax without all you kids underfoot. Don't need to worry about the brass breathing down our necks here either. They, hell, most people don't know this room exists.” The older man stared at the floor with a half-smile on his face. “Most of 'em are gone now but the room's still here for whoever needs it.”

“Are you sure you want to tell me about this place?” Jean asked, hesitant. It felt like he was trespassing. “I'm one of those kids you're trying to avoid.” 

“I get the feeling that you can be trusted to keep a secret.” The older man shook his head and walked back to where Jean hovered uncertainly in the doorway. 

Jean didn't know what to say other than, “Thanks.” 

“Try to get some sleep, kid. Unwind. You look like you need it.” He clapped a hand on Jean's shoulder and left without a backwards glance. 

Jean waited until he couldn't hear his oddly generous roommate's footsteps anymore before reexamining the room. 

Despite the ominousness of his roommate's words, it was clear upon closer inspection that the place was still in regular use. It made Jean feel slightly less like he was somewhere he shouldn't be. He was tempted to poke through the room in detail, but exhaustion dragged at his limbs and Jean found himself staggering over to the overstuffed couch instead and flopping down. The last person to be there had apparently arranged all the pillows on this side in a very specific order and it was surprisingly comfortable. The way the quilted blanket was tossed over the back would also make sense if it was thrown off from a lying-down position in a hurry. 

Jean tugged it back down to cover him and looked down at the floor at the stack of books. He reached for the top one and found it was just beyond where he could comfortably reach without moving. He managed to grab it after a couple swipes with his fingers but he had to stretch, so whoever was just lying down here must have longer arms than he did. Jean remembered where the cup had been placed when they came in and reached up with his empty hand to check the angle. It was awkward, but didn't require any contortions to put or retrieve a cup placed there. It would be a bad idea, however, since it would be in constant danger of spilling over his shoulder if he moved his head the wrong way. 

So, whoever was lying on the couch must have been certain that they weren't going to move. Either they slept like a corpse and never tossed or turned, or they were settling in to read that pile of books nearby. 

It was probably reading, Jean thought as he relaxed into the pillow pile. 

The setup reminded him of another bookworm from his trainee days, one who liked to steal all of Jean's pillows and blankets because just his weren't enough to make a sufficiently cozy cocoon. There were even times when Jean was forced to sit with him because it still wasn't warm enough. The reasoning was pure bullshit. Marco had a higher body temperature than everyone else. He barely noticed the cold and even enjoyed being outside when everyone else was shivering and in danger of losing their fingers. And yet, Marco wouldn't stop whining until Jean caved. Jean would end up laying on his side, watching Marco read until the warmth (and boredom) made him fall asleep on his friend's shoulder. 

Jean stretched out on soft cushions and yawned with a smile on his face. It was nice to be able to think about those days without feeling like he was punched in the gut. Maybe it was due to being in a room filled with someone else's ghosts and someone else's bittersweet memories. Maybe being here was what made it okay to remember how happy they were back then. It was okay to wish that things turned out differently and it was okay to miss him like hell and not be totally over it and sometimes wish that everyone would go away and let him wallow in his grief. 

His roommate was a really great guy, Jean thought to himself. It was a shame that he had such a forgettable name. 

Jean took a deep breath and felt a weight on his chest. He glanced down, suddenly remembering the presence of the book he had picked earlier, and held it up curiously. 

He couldn't read it. 

He didn't know what language the title was written in, but the loops of the characters did look vaguely familiar. As did the reddish-brown cover with gold leaf lettering and looping border designs. Where had he seen it before? Jean cracked open the cover and flipped through the pages. He couldn't read a word but it looked like the whole thing was hand-written by someone with a very steady hand. It was pretty impressive from a technical standpoint. 

Too bad he couldn't read it. It could have jogged his memory if he knew what it was about. 

Jean tucked the book between his body and the back of the couch, too warm and drowsy to bother returning the book to its proper place. He wrapped the patchwork quilt more securely around his body and shuffled down so it covered most of his face. 

He wasn't actually intending to fall asleep but the exhaustion from the previous nights must have caught up with him all at once. The next thing he knew, he was jolted awake by the awareness that he wasn't alone in the room. Jean kept his eyes closed and his body relaxed but it wasn't easy, especially since he could see the shadow of someone standing over him through his eyelids. 

Whoever it was, they weren't moving. 

A soft sigh escaped the person standing over him, followed by the scuff of boots shifting on the ground and the sound of rustling fabric. Fidgeting? Whatever they were doing, it was starting to get on Jean's nerves. His temper climbed as the person continued to stand there and watch him sleep until he couldn't take it any longer. 

Jean sat up and snarled, “What the hell do you want?!”

The person jumped back and yelped, “Sorry! Did I scare you?”

Jean glared blearily at the person who had so rudely interrupted his nap. The first thing he noticed was that the guy was tall. The second was that the guy had zero fashion sense, because wrapped around his neck and mouth was some sort of hideous multicoloured floral print scarf with tassells. Tassells! And as if that wasn't bad enough, the guy's glasses had yellow tinted lenses set in a huge bulky frame that clashed horribly with itself and the scarf. His shirt was the colour of burlap but at least it didn't appear to actually BE burlap. Probably. The black wide-brimmed hat jammed onto his head was the only thing that looked like something a normal person would wear. 

“Holy shit,” was all Jean could say. 

The guy blinked. He looked down at himself then back up at Jean with a quizzical expression on his face, as if he didn't see the problem. Jean scrubbed a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to make sure he wasn't imagining things, but the sight didn't change. The only thing that did change was that Jean was now awake enough to notice something weird about the right side of the guy's face. Shiny scars crawled up his neck and across the bridge of his nose that looked like... burn marks? Acid? Something like that. The scars were white in places and an angry red in others and when combined with the guy's natural tanned olive skin, it made it look like the guy was breaking out in some sort of horrible puffy rash. 

“What?” The guy crossed his arms over his chest defensively. 

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately? Because, holy shit what is wrong with you?” 

“What's wrong with what I'm wearing? It's comfortable!” 

Jean shook his head in disbelief. “That can't be the only reason you're in the getup.” 

“My clothing choices are none of your business!” The guy shot back. “And I'm the one who should be asking what are you doing here.” 

“I asked first,” Jean retorted. 

“You are such an ass,” the guy grumbled under his breath. 

“That's rich, coming from a guy who stood there like some kinda pervert and watched me sleep.” Jean scoffed. 

“I wasn't watching you sleep!” The guy cleared his throat and frowned. “You know what? I don't care what you're doing. Just get out. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to be here and there other things you should be doing.” 

That was true. Jean did have his regular duties to attend to but the last thing he wanted to do was let the guy think that he won. He didn't scare Jean one bit. But on the other hand... Captain Levi. And Sasha wanted to talk to him about something that could be important. He shouldn't keep her waiting too long, or he'd have to worry about Connie getting on his case too. 

“Fine, but this isn't over.” Jean stood and jabbed a finger into the guy's chest. “Don't think that not telling me your name is going to keep me from finding out who you are.” 

The guy rest his hands on his hips and said calmly, “I'll be very impressed if you can figure it out.” 

“I will. Trust me.” Jean snarled as he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should be the last of the setup. The plot'll really get rolling starting next chapter, which should make them longer too. It'll take a while before I make it obvious where Marco is and what he's doing, but don't worry! He's here. Somewhere. :D


	3. Chapter 3

Jean left the room in a rage. He wanted to track down his well-informed roommate and demand everything the older man knew about the rude weirdo with the burn scars and no fashion sense. He wanted to prove the asshole wrong in record time but luck was not on his side. Jean managed to make it as far as the mess hall before realizing that he didn't have the faintest idea what his roommate's schedule was like, or where to find him at this time of day, or where he liked to spend his off-hours, or who his friends were. 

The only time Jean and Connie saw the third occupant of their room was at night and during large scale exercises that required the participation of all active Scouting Legion members. It wasn't unusual for days to pass without seeing any trace of their older roommate beyond the slight changes to the items on his bedside table, like an empty glass where a full one was there the night before. Jean regretted never bothering to be more friendly with the guy because he was Jean's best lead for information on the weirdo with no fashion sense. 

"Where the hell have you been?!" 

Connie's voice rang out over the din of the mess hall and Jean cringed at the volume. He hoped that Connie had been asleep like their roommate suggested but, in hindsight, it was foolish to think that anyone could sleep with an angry Sasha in the room. 

Jean turned and greeted the shorter boy with an unenthusiastic "hey, Connie." 

"Don't you 'hey Connie' me! I couldn't get a wink of sleep with Sasha bugging me about where you vanished." Connie stomped up to where Jean was loitering near the doors. 

"I fell asleep somewhere else." Jean shrugged and rubbed at his neck. The pillow pile on the couch was comfortable enough to lure him toward sleep but it sure did a number on his neck and back. He wouldn't be napping there again anytime soon. 

"And where would that be? Sasha said she already checked all the places we're allowed to go, including everyone else's rooms, and you weren't in any of them so she decided to stake out your bed instead." Connie glared accusingly. "What did you do? The other guy took one step in the room before turning around and bolting, leaving me calm her down myself!"

Jean's sour expression didn't change. 

"What's it to you? So you lost a little sleep. I'll talk to her later and find out what she wanted." Jean waved a dismissive hand and inched toward the exit. "Problem solved."

"No, problem is not solved!" Connie inserted himself between Jean and the open door. 

Jean sighed and considered making a break for the other set of doors. They were further away but he could probably make it outside before Connie caught up, maybe. Jean dismissed the urge to bolt with a shake of his head. Running for it would only make it look like he genuinely had something to hide when all he really wanted was to find somewhere quiet to catch up on his sleep.

"What the hell do you want from me, then?" Jean said. 

"I want to know what you did to rile her up like that." Connie crossed his arms and frowned mightily. 

"That's what I want to know," Jean snapped. "I'm just as confused as you are!"

"Bullshit," Connie said flatly. " You can't get this good at pissing people off without knowing how to push their buttons. You know what set her off."

"And again, what business is it of yours if Sasha and I don't get along? If you're pissed you didn't get to sleep, then I'm sorry. Happy? Can I go now?"

"In case you haven't noticed, Sasha is my friend and friends worry about each other when they're not acting like themselves." Connie snapped, "You'd know that if you weren't such a—" 

Jean narrowed his eyes and snarled, "Do you really want to finish that sentence, Connie? Think long and hard about it. I can wait." 

Connie's anger faltered. The shorter boy sucked in a breath, as if he just realized the words that were about to spill out of his mouth, and scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked up at Jean with exhaustion and apology written all over his face. 

"…no, I don't." Connie said. "I'm really tired and not thinking straight."

"We're all tired."

Connie made a face and turned to avoid Jean's piercing eyes. "Still," he mumbled, "that was a low blow." 

"Like I said," Jean sighed, unable to muster enough energy to be angry. "We're all tired." 

"This stupid assignment's got to end sometime, right?" Connie beamed up at Jean, face filled with hope. "Then things'll get back to normal." 

"Sure" Jean grunted, rather than say what was truly on his mind. 

He wasn't very optimistic about that happening anytime soon –especially not when Jean was withholding information— but there was no reason to drag Connie down into the same foul mood. If this conversation had taken place just one day ago, Jean would have agreed fully with Connie's suggestion that their assignment was simple enough to meet a swift resolution once the culprit was caught. Instead, Jean's mind was filled with paranoia and dread that their "catch the thief" assignment was a cover for something else. It was one thing if Captain Levi was just being an ass and dreaming up assignments to keep the new recruits busy so they wouldn't get in the way, but why hide it from the rest of the Scouting Legion? What purpose would that serve? 

This mission alone wouldn't have been enough to send up a mental red flag but it was one more in a long series of tasks with an unclear purpose and goal. Somehow, Jean hadn't noticed that a pattern was developing until Sasha pointed it out that the supply chain falling apart was a serious problem. It wasn't something that freshly minted graduates of the Trainee Corps should be tackling. Moreover, Jean's and Connie's roommate knew absolutely nothing about it and that guy was part of the old guard in the Scouting Legion. He was around before Erwin Smith took over as the Commander and if anyone would be familiar with how things were run around here and where the problems usually occurred, it would be him and his compatriots. 

And yet, they weren't the ones tasked with tracking down whoever was sabotaging the Scouting Legion's supplies: the new recruits were. 

The only new recruit who actually wanted to join the Scouting Legion and was enough of a fanboy to know how things were run in the past was Eren. He was also enough of an opinionated loud-mouth that he'd say something if he noticed that the current Scouting Legion was acting strangely. Not surprisingly, Eren was also being kept on a very short leash by a guy who only answered to Commander Erwin himself and the rest of the 104th rarely saw him. It made sense to keep a close eye on a Shifter but in light of current developments…?

Thanks Sasha and roommate, Jean thought sourly, for putting his mind on this track. His insomnia really needed the extra fuel.

"Anyway, just talk to her soon. Okay?" Connie said. 

Jean tuned back into the conversation just as they stopped at the Scouting Legion's training field. Connie stared up at Jean expectantly, waiting for an answer. What was he talking about? Oh, that was right. Sasha was looking for him. Jean acted as if he was paying attention the whole time.

"I'll talk to her tonight if I don't see her around first." Jean promised. 

"Good." Connie nodded, satisfied. 

"What are we supposed to be doing today, anyway?" Jean scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked around. 

"More formation practice is my guess." Connie shrugged carelessly. "It's all we've been doing since the fuck up on the plains." 

For the most part, the crowd was made up of the new recruits but there were a few unfamiliar faces mixed in that Jean didn't recognize. The Scouting Legion was never very large to begin with and with the losses incurred during the failed attempts to capture Annie, there were even fewer faces to memorize. The emblem on everyone's jackets were the same blue and white wings but the rank embroidery ranged from "new recruit" like Jean and Connie up to "squad leader" like Hange Zoe and Levi. All of the unfamiliar faces appeared to be comfortable and familiar with their surroundings. Were they specialized squads that didn't participate in the recent missions? 

It would make sense if Commander Erwin bolstered their ranks by recalling teams that were stationed elsewhere, but when did the Scouting Legion have that many extra bodies to spare?

"Where did all these guys come from?" Jean said, "They weren't here yesterday." 

"I heard they showed up after we left to keep watch," said a voice from behind them.

Connie turned and waved enthusiastically, "Hey, Reiner!"

Reiner strode over and clapped a hand on Connie's shoulder. He raised a hand in greeting to Jean, who nodded stiffly and glanced behind the tall blond. To his surprise, Bertholdt wasn't there. 

"You're by yourself today?" Jean asked curiously. 

Reiner sighed loudly and pointed back at the main building. "He's giving his report on yesterday." 

"What, now?" Connie stared at Reiner in disbelief. "You mean we could've waited until after we got some sleep? What the hell, why didn't anyone say something sooner!" 

"Like they'd be so reasonable," Jean scoffed. 

"Yeeeaah… it's more like he and Armin thought the other guy was going to go report and they went to bed." Reiner grimaced and shook his head. "Mikasa must've figured out the mix-up because first thing this morning, she bursts into the room and drags off Armin, still in his pyjamas, and leaving Bertholdt to deal with Captain Levi on his own." 

"Well, it was nice knowing him." Connie nodded grimly. "I'll miss him."

"I'm sure he'll be touched you care so much," Reiner laughed. 

"It's not like I could give the report in his place," Connie said. "Wait, no, I totally could. Nothing happened and we nearly fell asleep from boredom but we didn't." 

"That sounds about right." Reiner turned to Jean and said, "You're being awfully quiet today. What's up?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I'm just tired." Jean shrugged and gave him a weak smile. "A lot on my mind." 

"…Is that so?" 

There was an expression on Reiner's face that wouldn't have looked out of place on Marco's. It was the familiar look of "I know what you're hiding but I'm not going to call you out on your bullshit yet because I'm going to be nice enough to give you the chance to come clean on your own". Jean scowled and turned away. 

Connie glanced between the two. "Uh, what's up with you guys?" 

"Nothing's up," Jean said testily. 

"Yeah, snapping like that is really convincing." Reiner scoffed and slung an arm around Jean's shoulders. "Spill the beans." 

"Ask him if you really want to know." Jean shrugged off Reiner's arm and stormed away. 

Reiner stared. "…okay, seriously, what is going on?" 

Connie fidgeted and mumbled, "I might've said something that pissed him off earlier. Sasha too." 

"Like what?" Reiner crossed his arms and frowned. "It's not like him to blow up like that." 

"Er, not much! Jean said he was really tired and I kinda got on his case about a few things and didn't let up. And I might have stepped on a landmine and said something I shouldn't have? I dunno…" Connie laughed nervously. "It's not my fault he's so touchy these days!" 

Reiner looked like he had come choice words to say but was interrupted by the arrival of the squad leader in charge of the day's drills. The tall blond pointed a finger at Connie, said "apologize properly" with his sternest and most disapproving frown, and walked away to find the rest of his squad. Connie gave a half-hearted salute and wandered off in search of the others that he was assigned to work with on today's drills. Jean should have been part of his group but Connie had a sneaking suspicion that Jean was going to trade places with someone else today. 

A few minutes after the instructor got everyone rounded up and was ready to begin, Connie's suspicion was proven to be right. Jean was nowhere to be seen and in his place was Krista, who was way too nice and a bit of a pushover. She'd never refuse an seemingly innocent request like "trade places with me today" from an cranky and exhausted looking Jean. She gave Connie a kind but slightly baffled smile as if to say that she didn't know why she was there either and turned her attention back to the front. Whatever was going on with Jean would have to be left for a later time. 

Fortunately, the drills went off without a single hitch. 

Despite the presence of all the new bodies who'd never worked with the new recruits before, they were able to complete the tasks with a minimum of screw ups. Nobody had to run laps for punishment, except for Bertholdt. He turned up half-way through the exercise after Captain Levi finally let him go but the drill instructor didn't accept that as an excuse. He cast pleading looks in Reiner's direction (and accusing ones in Armin's) but the tall blond only laughed and promised to smuggle out a few rolls of bread for Bertholdt to eat later. 

Jean hung back and watched them at a distance. 

He knew enough about his own temperament to know that he was not going to be good company today. Fortunately, the squad that Krista had been placed with were all older Scouting Legion members who had little interest in making conversation with the fresh meat. Krista looked so relieved when Jean asked if she wanted to swap to his squad that she agreed without stopping to ask why he would make such a strange and sudden request. He couldn't blame her for wanting to get away from her current squad – the grizzled veterans took quite a bit of getting used to. Jean would've been intimated too if he didn't have to share a room with one of them. 

"There you are!" Sasha exclaimed. 

Jean groaned. 

Sasha burst out of a crowd of loitering Scouting Legion members, most of whom had already adjusted to her noisy energy and barely flinched when she barrelled past them. The only ones that reacted with surprise were the unfamiliar ones that Jean had spotted earlier. She pounced on Jean, who had been sitting in the shadow cast by a particularly tall officer, and dug her fingers into his arm. The officer reacted by looking over his shoulder to confirm that the source of the disturbance was Sasha Blouse before turning back to his conversation and ignoring them.

"Congratulations, you found me. What do you want?" Jean said flatly. 

"I have something important to tell you," she crowed. 

"What's so important that you had to get on Connie's case about it? It's not like we wouldn't get stuck staring at each other's ugly mugs for hours on end later. You could've told me then." 

Sasha glanced around and whispered loudly, "It's about the thing we were talking about yesterday." 

Jean leaned back and said, "So?"

"So…? I thought you wouldn't want to wait to hear this." Sasha said. "It wasn't easy for me to find this out. Well, actually it was, but whatever. You want know or what?" 

"Why are you telling me this?" Jean grumbled. "It's not like I can do anything about it." 

"Because it was really bothering you," Sasha said. "And it was bothering me and I have to tell someone."

"And that lucky someone is me," Jean sighed. "Okay, fine. What is it?"

"You were right." 

"Of course I'm right," Jean said. "You need to be more specific than that." 

Sasha rolled her eyes. "I'm being serious here!"

"And so am I," Jean retorted. "I said a lot of things yesterday. What, specifically, did I get right?" 

"Your…" Sasha glanced up at the officer and tugged on Jean's arm. "Come on, let's talk somewhere else." 

Jean let himself be pulled to his feet and reluctantly trudged after her. He looked around in hopes of spotting someone who would be able to distract Sasha from pulling his arm off but everyone from their graduating class were clustered together on the far side of the training field. He spotted Armin's bright blond hair and Mikasa's distinctive red scarf and guessed that Eren must have been allowed to join in today. His eyes drifted over the ranks of the other soldiers nearby, hoping to make eye contact with someone in a charitable mood that would be willing to step in on Jean's behalf, but nobody was looking their way. Everyone else's attention was taken up by the unfamiliar faces that joined in today.

Nobody… except for the weirdo with no fashion sense. 

The guy was trying to blend in with a crowd of officers but he stuck out like a sore thumb. The scarf he wore must have been woven from a reflective material or perhaps the flowers were embroidered with shiny multicoloured thread. Either way, that hideous affront to the eyes shone like a beacon in the bright sunlight and it cast reflections on his face that made the scars look a hundred times worse. The scars went from something like a bad rash to looking like his face was attacked with a cheese grater. The guy was still wearing the ugly tinted yellow goggles (that were probably prescription glasses) and that unflattering hat but at least he went and changed his shirt from the burlap sack to a plain white button-up. 

Jean couldn't imagine anyone more conspicuous than him. The guy stared back at Jean a distant sort of curiosity before refocusing on the people he was standing with and completely ignoring Jean's mental pleas for help. 

So much for that. But then again, perhaps he shouldn't have hoped for help from someone he argued with and had a sort-of bet with. The guy had nothing to gain from helping Jean out.

"Aren't we far enough away yet?" Jean whined. 

Sasha stopped and looked around. There were a few people who were busy working with the Scouting Legion's horses but they were too far away to eavesdrop. The only living things close enough to hear their conversation were the horses grazing on the other side of the fence. A few of them watched the pair with curiosity and wandered closer in search of the treats that they probably smelled in Sasha's pockets. 

"No, that's mine." Sasha pushed the nose of one away and shuffled back out of range, hands pressed protectively over her jacket pockets.

"This had better be good," Jean said as he leaned against the fence. 

"It is," Sasha assured him. "Or really not good, depending on how you look at it."

"Hurry up and tell me already. I really want to get some rest before we have to go out there again."

"Okay, I haven't told anyone else yet because they'd probably just go 'so what' at me but I'm pretty sure you'll see why I'm worried." Sasha said, "I looked into things after you mentioned hearing that supplies were going missing and how the stuff that does show up is poor quality." 

"And what did you manage to find out in that hour or two that we were apart?" 

Sasha must have been upset by what she discovered because she didn't react to Jean's rudeness at all. She picked at a loose thread on her jacket. Her eyes kept darting between the people working with the horses in the distance and the main building of the Scouting Legion. 

"I found out that you really were onto something. I get along pretty good with the cooks so after we got back, I went chatted with them. I struck up a conversation about the recent meals and what's next on the menu and slipped in a few comments about the quality of the ingredients." Sasha tugged on her ponytail and whistled. "Whooboy, did I ever open the floodgates there." 

Jean stumbled forward, knocked from his perch on the fence as Sasha's horse, as friendly and nosey as Sasha herself, came over to investigate after hearing the whistle. 

"What did you hear?" Jean said. 

"That more food has been going missing than could be explained away with hungry wildlife or sticky-fingered soldiers sneaking off with things." Sasha reached out to pet her horse. "And what has been showing up has been on the verge of spoiling." 

"I'm going to guess from the look on your face that this can't be explained away with 'they didn't store it right'," Jean said. 

Sasha shook her head. "Nope. And that's not the last of it." 

"Wonderful. How much better could this get?" Jean threw his hands into the air. 

"It's not just food that's going missing," Sasha said grimly. "Other, non-perishable things they ordered aren't showing up either." 

Jean frowned. His mind immediately jumped to a conclusion that made dread settle like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He hoped he was wrong, but…

"These drills we've been doing, have you noticed?" Sasha said quietly. "They're infantry formations."

Jean swallowed hard. "And the Scouting Legion doesn't need to practice something like this. We're almost exclusively in the air during a battle. There's no reason to keep fresh meat like us from learning more advanced manoeuvres from our seniors, unless…"

"Yeah," Sasha confirmed. "The gas shipments have been hit too. But we can't just pop over to Trost and pick up some replacements from the corner store like we can if a few bags of grain go missing." 

Jean had to ask, "How did you manage to find this all out in less than an hour?" 

Sasha shrugged and said, "They were looking for someone to complain to and I was lucky enough to be it." 

"Have they tried telling the guys in charge?" Jean shook his head. "Wait, stupid question. Of course they did. We wouldn't have been ordered to do something about it if they didn't mention it. The question is, why assign this to us? We can't possibly be the most qualified people in the Scouting Legion to deal with this."

"I dunno, that's why I'm asking you." Sasha grinned and slapped his shoulder with her free hand. "You have really good instincts when it comes to worse case scenarios. A real master of coping with disasters. They're usually of your own doing, but you’re good at finding and dealing with all sorts of problems. Or so I heard." 

Jean scowled. "Who told you that?" He needed a name to know who to punch for spreading such slander.

"Marco," Sasha said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Jean's frown deepened. Punching Marco would be a bit more difficult. He could always pay Marco's grave a visit but he already knew that he'd lose if he picked a fight with a rock. On the other hand, Sasha could be trying to shift the blame to someone she knew that Jean respected and wouldn't question.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're misquoting him?" Jean asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm not!" Sasha said defensively. "He had this really dopey smile when he said it too, like it was a complement!" 

Jean thought 'that does sound like him' but what he said was "and you remember this, why?"

"Because he said it without prompting! It was weird!" Sasha exclaimed. 

"This I have to hear," Jean crossed his arms and made himself comfortable. 

"Okay so there I was, minding my own business and eating lunch and Marco was sitting across from me, reading. Next to us was Eren's group and they were talking about I don't remember what but all of a sudden Marco closes his book like, SLAM!" Sasha clapped her hands together in imitation, startling her horse. She gave it a reassuring pat before continuing. "And he says in this really chilling polite tone that they shouldn't talk about things they don't know about. And then Eren was all…" she deepened her voice and scowled. "…then who do you suggest? And Armin was all," her face shifted to a comically wide-eyed expression of horror. "Eren, don't do this! No fighting!" Her voice shifted to a stage whisper. "And now here's the best part."

"Uh huh?" Jean prompted, curious.

"Marco didn't get mad or anything. He just beamed this super goofy, starry-eyed smile at everyone and started going on and on about you." Sasha laughed at the memory. "Eren looked at Marco like he completely lost his marbles and Armin looked like he was gonna die from second-hand embarrassment. Even Mikasa looked surprised! But Marco? Nope, he just said his piece and went back to his book like nothing happened." 

"Ugh," Jean groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Why didn't you stop him?" 

Sasha laughed harder. "At that point I don't think any of us thought you were aware the other existed, much less were already friends! It came completely out of nowhere. All of a sudden, Mister Honours Student goes and butts into someone else's conversation, defends the honour of a jerk, and sings your praises like it's the most normal thing in the world. I was too surprised to do anything!" 

"Damn it, Marco…" Jean scrubbed his hands over his face and straightened. He gave Sasha a small nod and calmly stated, "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to pay a visit to his grave so I can desecrate it." 

"Didn't you say it was back in Jinae?" Sasha pointed out with a Cheshire grin. "You'll never make it there and back before our mission tonight."

"Sure I can." Jean said, cheeks burning red.

"It's not worth the risk. And it's in the past so there's nothing you can do about it now." Sasha put her hands on Jean's shoulders and steered him back toward the main building. "Now get some real sleep, grumpy. We can finish talking about this stuff later."

"Awesome. I can't wait to find out what other bombshells you're waiting to drop."


	4. Chapter 4

Despite the monotony of the drills, the rest of the day passed in the blink of an eye and it was once again time to embark on Captain Levi's inane mission. Sasha kept her distance from Jean for the rest of the day due to his contagious sense of paranoia. She originally wanted to walk back together so they could continue their conversation but Jean refused. They should go back separately, he said. He stressed that they had to avoid altering their usual routines and behaviour. They shouldn't do anything that might draw undue attention to them. They especially shouldn't do anything strange the day after stumbling across evidence that something very strange was going on. 

The Scouting Legion was hiding something from its own members but what it was, Jean couldn't begin to guess. All he knew for certain was that his instincts were crying foul and they hadn't steered him wrong yet. Military organizations were expected to have at least a few secrets and Jean wasn't disputing the Scouting Legion's right to conceal some things. That was normal. What he did have a problem with was what Commander Erwin Smith's Scouting Legion was choosing to hide and what he was ordering his soldiers to do. 

There were only two people who would be able to either confirm Jean's suspicions or lay them to rest. One of them might as well have been a ghost for how difficult it was to track him down. As for the other? Well, Jean preferred to avoid him if possible. 

Jean managed to reach an uneasy truce with Eren in the days following the failure to capture Annie –finding common ground in losing people they trusted to have their backs, of all things– but he still couldn't bring himself to speak to Eren about this. He knew now the guy had his heart in the right place, but Eren was still too impulsive and too short-sighted and too idealistic and too trusting. Eren wouldn't be able to see the unsettling implications that Jean and Sasha spotted immediately. 

Even worse, Eren was part of Levi's inner circle and, by extension, also part of Erwin Smith's. 

If Jean and Sasha confided their doubts to him, there was a very high chance that he'd innocently run straight to the top brass and tell them everything. In Eren's mind, there was no way that "Humanity's Strongest" Captain Levi and the illustrious Commander Erwin could have anything but mankind's best interests at heart. Jean wasn't accusing them of having a hidden agenda (not yet, at least) but it would be foolish to reveal their hand before they knew what, exactly, was going on. 

There were too many unknowns and the only living person Jean trusted to keep their mouth shut was Sasha. 

Sasha had insisted that Connie should be included too and that sparked a long and tedious argument during their shift in that smelly ditch. She hated the thought of leaving Connie in the dark and possibly helping out the wrong side when they could really use all the help they could get. He was already kind of suspicious, Sasha insisted, it wouldn't be hard to get Connie on their side. 

But Jean couldn't let her. He used every trick he knew to get Sasha to back down and keep things between just them for now. No matter how much he agreed with her, it was a simple fact that Connie was a terrible actor. He was too honest. And besides, they didn't have any proof of wrongdoing yet. 

"Give me some time to follow up some hunches first," Jean had said to a deeply unhappy Sasha, "and when I have something more solid than paranoia and gossip, then we can ask Connie for help."

"Fine. I'll hold you to that." Sasha said at long last.

The tension squeezing Jean's chest only eased a fraction when Sasha agreed to keep quiet. He had managed to buy himself some more time to think about what to do next but he was at a loss as to what to do with that extra time. Jean was no strategic genius. He didn't have any special talent for drawing up plans of attack nor did he have any special insight into the hearts of his fellow man. That was Armin's field of expertise but, like with Eren, asking him for advice was absolutely out of the question. 

Armin was far too close to the potential source of the problems to risk confiding in. 

Jean wanted to believe that Armin could be trusted to keep a secret. He wanted to think that Armin wouldn't sell them out he even if his true allegiances were to Eren and Commander Erwin. He didn't want to think ill of someone that Marco had considered one of his closer friends but Jean knew better now that to have blind faith in people. Jean learned the hard way that people never failed to let you down when you needed them the most. In addition, with the pivotal role that Armin played in the development of the plan to flush out and capture the Female Type, it wasn't a good idea to give someone as perceptive as Armin any reason to doubt their commitment to the Scouting Legion's cause. 

Lucky for Sasha, she had a reputation as an enthusiastic kid and a troublemaker and a little flighty. All she had to do was go back to mostly ignoring Jean during their free time and everyone would forget that she was uncharacteristically insistent on finding him. In Jean's case, it would be quite a bit trickier to deflect suspicion. Thanks to the revelation that Marco liked to talk about him at great length and without prompting to anyone willing to listen (and Marco even had the nerve to say Jean was the shameless one. Ha!), it was a safe bet that most people knew what constituted "strange behaviour" for Jean. 

Thankfully, he could write off most of his suspicious behaviour as due to chronic insomnia caused by grief. Jean didn't know that he was the sleep-talking type but it was a minor blessing in disguise in this case. His elusive roommate with a reputation for honesty could provide the perfect alibi for Jean's actions. 

And speaking of his roommate, he was also the walking encyclopedia of the Scouting Legion trivia and dirty little secrets. There were rumours that his knowledge came from less savoury methods. Some of the rumours said that Jean and Connie's roommate was originally part of an espionage and intelligence gathering unit before the guy switched to his current squad. Other rumours claimed that the guy was still a spy for… well, who exactly his roommate was supposed to be a spy for depended on who Jean talked to. The list ran from Commander Erwin Smith, to former Commander Keith Shadis, to the Military Police, to Garrison, and everything and everyone in between. 

It was, frankly, one of the most ridiculous things he ever heard. Jean didn't know his roommate very well (he couldn't even remember his name on most days) but he knew enough to see that most of his roommate's information came from being a good shoulder to cry on. The guy had a knack for dealing with people consumed with survivor's guilt and all the other emotional traumas and in turn, people felt free to talk to him about all sorts of things.

And that was what Jean was counting on. 

If only he could find the guy. 

Jean was about to take a page out of Sasha's book and prepare to stake out his roommate's bed until the guy finally showed up when Jean suddenly remembered that secret lounge. It had looked like it was still in regular use and the odds were good that whoever else knew about it were likely friends or at least close acquaintances with the man that Jean was looking for. The people there would probably be able to point him in the right direction, at least. 

"Your dinner isn't going to grow legs and run away no matter how long you stare at it."

"What?" Jean looked up from his plate as Connie plopped down on the bench next to him.

"You've been glaring at your dinner for over half an hour," Connie said. 

"It's breakfast," Jean said. "Dinner was that shitty rock-hard bread roll they shoved in our hands as we left, remember?" 

"Oh, that's right! The doorstop." Connie snapped his fingers. "I must've blocked out all memory of that thing." 

Jean made a vague noise and went back to staring at his food, all appetite gone. He had very little interest in eating these days for reasons that he couldn't quite articulate. He stopped to eat and rest when his body made it clear that it wouldn't go any further until he listened, but it felt like a chore. It didn't help that he now knew that the ingredients in their meals were barely fit for human consumption. He glanced at Connie. The younger boy was eyeing Jean's meal with clear interest and Jean pushed the plate toward him with a sigh. It would be a waste to throw it away no matter how bad it tasted.

"Here," Jean said. "Split it between you and Sasha. Consider this an apology for yesterday." 

"Really?" Connie grabbed the plate and pulled it close, hunching protectively over it. "Thanks man! All is forgiven." 

"Good to know you're so easily bribed," Jean said dryly. He dusted off his hands and stood. 

"Where are you going now? Bed?" Connie said between mouthfuls. The bad taste clearly didn't bother him.

"Probably not. I'm too tired to sleep," Jean said. 

Connie waved a hand at Jean, telling him to wait as he swallowed. "Hey, did you clear things up with Sasha? Because let me tell you now that I am not going to put up with that noise for a second night. What was all that about anyway?"

Jean shrugged. The lies rolled off his tongue without a second of hesitation. 

"It was nothing you need to worry about. Sasha just wanted my opinion on something and wouldn't take no for an answer." 

"Cool. So it was just girl stuff?" Connie laughed. "Better you than me."

Jean made a face as if he smelled something terrible. "I still don't know why all you guys like talking to me about your problems." 

"Don't look at me!" Connie grinned widely. "We have it on good authority that you're the one to talk to." 

"This again…" he groaned.

Jean wondered if his mother would get upset if he cut his next visit short by a few days so he could make a side trip to Jinae. Marco might be beyond reaching but that didn't mean it was too late tell Mr. and Mrs. Bodt about their son's unrepentant gossipy habits. And that they raised a blanket thief with no respect for personal space; that was important. Picking a fight with a grave would accomplish nothing so it would be far more productive to tattle to Marco's parents. Jean would make him regret giving out directions to his home. 

"You know what?" Jean said, "I've had enough of this. I'm leaving. Things to do, you know."

Jean walked away from the table swiftly with Connie's laughter ringing in his ears and embarrassment heating his cheeks. Damn that freckled nuisance. Of course he would find a way to be a pest from beyond the grave. "I like your embarrassed face" he said. "It's charming" he said. "Cute even" he said. "You should really learn to take a complement" he said with a grin, as if he didn't know exactly what he was doing. Marco clearly went overboard with the praise because for some strange reason, he thought making Jean blush was comedy gold. 

Yes, a side trip to Jinae to collect all of Marco's embarrassing childhood stories was definitely in order. 

Jean paused at a junction in the hallway and tried to remember which way his roommate turned. There was very little chance that Jean would be able to get any meaningful rest today so he might as well see if he could dig up any new information. Sasha could take care of asking the Scouting Legion's non-military staff for what they knew after she gave their report to Captain Levi. There was no need for him to waste his time asking the same people the same questions. It would be a better use of his time to look elsewhere… 

If only he could remember where that damn room was. 

Jean wandered aimlessly up and down the abandoned hallways in search of something, anything that looked familiar. His ears eventually picked up the faint sounds of laughter and conversation and he followed the sound back to a closed door at the end of a long hallway. Found them, he thought triumphantly. Jean raised his hand to knock and hesitated, paralyzed with sudden case of nerves. He wondered what was the proper protocol in this case. He wondered if he was going to regret accidentally committing a faux-pas before pushing his nerves aside and walking inside as if he had every right to be there. 

Sitting at the table pushed against the wall was a group of older men and women who were deeply engrossed in a card game. Piles of gambling chips were set out before them. The pyramid of mugs was missing from the stolen end-table and were instead clutched in the free hands of the card players. The only person that looked up at the sound of the door opening was the one with a clear line of sight. 

"A new face," said the one who looked up. The hand holding her cards was missing a finger. "Which one of us was it?"

"Huh?" Jean blinked in confusion. 

Was this some sort of members only club? Damn. How could Jean explain who let him in if he couldn't remember what his roommate's name was? For that matter, did his roommate ever introduce himself? Jean honestly couldn't remember. 

"That would be me," said a familiar voice. Jean sagged with relief as the familiar head of his roommate poked up from below the back of the couch. The older man sat up and waved. 

"You, Allan?" One of the men at the table placed his cards in his lap and twisted around in his chair. "It's been a long time." 

So that's what his roommate's name was, Jean thought. Good to know. Now he wouldn't have to paw through all of the older man's belongings until he found something with a name on it. 

"What can I say? I have high standards," Jean's roommate, apparently named Allan, said with a careless shrug. 

"Quit talking already and play!" The four-fingered woman turned her attention back to the game. "And welcome to you, kid." She said as an afterthought. 

Jean closed the door and hurried over to the lone familiar face. He took a seat on the couch next to his roommate and gave the older man a grateful smile. The older man, Allan, chuckled and reached out to ruffle Jean's hair.

"Thanks for the save," Jean said. "Hope I'm not interrupting something."

"Nah, we're just unwinding." Allan marked his place in his book with a finger and turned to face Jean. "So what's up?" 

"What makes you think that something's up?" Jean crossed his arms over his chest defensively at the amused look on the older man's face. "Maybe I just wanted to hang out here? Get some sleep?"

"Uh huh. Right." 

"Okay, fine. Yeah, I might have some questions for you but that's not the only reason I'm here." Jean rolled his eyes and made a face. 

"I thought so," Allan said. "What is it?" 

Jean rubbed his nose and wondered which question to start with. Now that he finally found the guy, he didn't know where to begin. Should he start with getting Sasha's concerns about the supply chain problems out of the way first? Or should he try to find out if any of the old guard in the Scouting Legion knew what was going on? Was there a good reason for Jean to be so concerned? For that matter, was it even safe to broach those topics with this guy? Jean's gut instinct said that Allan could be trusted but what about everyone else in the room? What if one of them was the source of the Scouting Legion's problems? 

No, it would be better to start with something small. He should test the waters first and see just what kind of response he would get when asking for information. Hopefully, Jean's roommate wouldn't demand something of equal value in return. 

"I fell asleep here yesterday, like you suggested…" Jean began hesitantly. He hoped he didn't choose the wrong topic to start with. 

Allan nodded. "Good. You really need more sleep, Kid."

"I have a name," Jean snapped reflexively.

"I know. You're also the youngest one here and that makes you Kid," the older man said with a grin. 

Jean scowled and decided against arguing the point. That wasn't what he was here to do. He took a deep breath to calm his temper and refocused on the matter at hand. 

"There was some creepy guy who was watching me sleep yesterday. I caught him in the act and he chased me out of here like I was the one who did something wrong." Jean blurted out. Okay, maybe he didn't manage to get himself under control. 

"I'm sorry… but, what?" Allan gave a startled laugh. "What guy was this?" 

One of the women playing cards at the table turned around in her chair. "I second that what." 

"It was a weirdo!" Jean insisted without hesitation. "I think I've seen him around the Scouting Legion before now that I think about it, so it's not one of the newcomers that showed up yesterday or the day before."

"Yes, well, the only people who know about this room is either in the Scouting Legion or they used to be." Allan pointed out. "What did he look like? We'll probably be able to guess who it is since it's kind of an invitation only setup we've got going here." 

Jean immediately launched into a description of the guy. Approximate height, body type, voice type, what little physical features he could recall… but the confusion on Allan's face made it clear that what Jean remembered wasn't jogging any memories. It didn't help that the only things that really stuck in Jean's mind were those clothes. Jean floundered for a moment before swallowing his pride and confessing that all he could really remember in detail was the outfit.

Jean sighed, "…and there was a multicoloured floral scarf, yellow goggles or glasses, ugly black hat. What else? Oh, and a shirt that looked like a potato sack…" 

Allan burst into hysterical laughter. 

"Oh, him!" cried the woman at the table between guffaws.

Jean looked back and forth between the pair. "That description means something to you guys?"

"Yeah. It's pretty hard to miss that guy in a crowd, no?" Allan gasped for air. 

"I'm more surprised he hasn't admitted defeat yet," the woman at the table snickered. 

"It's not like he can," the woman with only four fingers replied mildly. 

"Of course he can," said the woman who wasn't missing any fingers. "The only people who'd know is us and we’d take pity on him." 

"Speak for yourself." Allan said, grinning. "I was given explicit instructions to never let him live it down if he chickened out." 

"I'm lost." Jean said hesitantly. 

Allan glanced over with a surprised expression, as if he had forgotten that Jean was there and wasn't in the loop. He looked back at his friends at the table and said, "who wants to fill the kid in?" with a smile.

"He lost a bet and has to wear that outfit as punishment," said a male voice at the card table. None of the men moved from their positions so it was impossible for Jean to tell which one had spoken. 

"Aw, that's the boring way to explain it." One of the other men protested. Jean still couldn't tell who at the table was talking. 

"And there's a reason why he hasn't changed out of it?" Jean asked slowly. 

The answer seemed obvious to everyone else but he couldn't figure out why it was. Jean could vaguely remember that ugly scarf lurking in the background of most of his memories of the Scouting Legion. That was a long time to be stuck on the losing end of a single bet. If Jean was that guy, he would have begged for mercy from the victor a very long time ago.

"The guy he made a bet with died," said the woman who had turned around in her chair. 

She glanced over at Allan as she spoke. Allan who didn't meet her eyes and instead gave Jean a lopsided smile. It was the same slightly distant and melancholy one that Jean had spotted the day before, when the Scouting Legion veteran had explained the purpose of the room. 

"The winner used to be my roommate," Allan said plainly. 

"Oh," was all Jean could say. 

"Don't everyone get all gloomy on me!" Allan made shooing motions with his hands at the card players. They returned to their game reluctantly after he made an annoyed face at them. The man turned back to Jean. "All it really comes down to is that he could've changed out of that outfit ages ago but he's too proud to admit defeat." 

"Why? Where there special terms about how he lost?" Jean said hastily, wanted to get away from the touchy subject. 

"Oh yeah… I nearly forgot about that." Allan tapped his fingers on the cover of his book. "I believe his exact words were 'until I outrank you which'll take no time at all you asshole'. And since the guy Antonio made the bet with got posthumously raised in rank…" Allan shrugged. "It'll be quite some time before he meets the requirements to go back to his own wardrobe."

"Antonio?" Jean asked.

"That's the guy who was watching you," Allan said. 

Jean frowned as he thought out loud. "So from what you're saying, the guy seems pretty cool. I mean, upholding his end of a humiliating bet even though the victor isn't around to enjoy it. That doesn't sound like the kind of person who'd creep on someone sleeping then act like it was my fault." 

"Yeah. Antonio's usually a really upstanding guy. A pillar of society, and all that. That's why I didn't immediately make the connection between the guy you described and a guy who'd watch little boys sleep." 

"So he's trustworthy?" Jean asked. 

"He's got a lot of integrity. More than anyone else here, probably." Allan confirmed with a small nod. 

Jean was a bit disappointed. He had really wanted to find out that the guy was up to no good due to a poor first impression but it seemed that wouldn't happen. This Antonio, whoever he was, was well liked and well thought of among the older veterans of the Scouting Legion. Allan and the rest of them didn't seem to be the kind of people who would shelter a criminal without good reason to trust them. Pursuing this further was probably a dead end. Antonio was probably unrelated to the Scouting Legion's current problems. At least Jean could find the guy and prove that he won their bet and rub his victory in the guy's fashion challenged face. 

"Good for him," Jean mumbled unenthusiastically. 

"…but then again," Allan said absently with a distant look in his eyes, "every single Bodt I've ever met has been like that. It must have something to do with the way they're raised. Or maybe it's something in the water where they come from? All I know is that even their black sheep have a strong set of morals and certain lines that they'd rather die than cross." 

Jean's head whipped around fast enough to make his neck hurt. "What did you say?" His voice shot up an octave. 

Allan stared at the younger boy with a puzzled frown. "Huh?" 

"What did you just say his name was?" Jean repeated. 

"…Didn't I tell you already? His name is Antonio Bodt." Allan's brow furrowed. "Hold on, what was the name of your friend?"

White noise filled Jean's mind, drowning everything out in a cacophonous roar of nonsense. It felt like he couldn't breathe. His eyes were open but nothing laid out before them registered because all that he could see was roaring flames. The stink of carbon and charcoal and rancid cooking meat assaulted in Jean's nose as he stared at a pyre for the dead who were too numerous to be afforded a decent burial. The fight had taken too long. Eren had taken too long to plug the hole in Trost's gate and the most of the bodies of the dead were so far gone that it was a small mercy that many of the fallen trainees and soldiers had nobody left to mourn their passing. 

Marco did have family left to mourn his passing and Jean knew that. But he also knew that their final memories of Marco shouldn't be tainted by the state that his body was in. No, he saw what happened with Mrs. Wagner and he couldn't do that to the Bodt family. The grave in Jinae was empty. It was just a stone marker and a box filled with mementos. 

But the other surviving trainees chose to turn their eyes from the reality before them. 

They scattered to the depths of Garrison to hide in what scant protection that Garrison could offer in the wake of the revelation that the Titan menace had never truly gone away. Of the trainees who had emerged from the wreckage of Trost and had earned right to hide within the inner walls, only one of them chose to accept it. The rest of them took up the Scouting Legion's suicidal pledge. Only one person out of their entire graduating class. One. And it was the one who didn't actually need the protection of humanity's highest and strongest walls. She was only there to knock them down, to pave the path for the extinction of humanity. She even came within a hair's breadth of succeeding too, with stolen gear and skillful acting, if it wasn't for the intervention of the Scouting Legion. 

But their victory, if it could even be counted as that, was pyrrhic at best. 

All of the divisions had lost valuable soldiers that day and the civilian losses were even more terrible. It was Trost all over again. Worst of all, Annie was pretty much lost to them. She sealed herself and all she knew behind a crystal that was even more impenetrable than the kind that the Female Type generated in battle. 

Why did she have Marco's gear? Did she have anything to do with his death? If not, did she at least manage to see his final moments? Was it a quick death or did Marco suffer as the titans tore him in half before losing interest and abandoning his body to the elements, leaving him there for Jean to stumble across? 

The uncertainty was almost as bad as discovering his corpse. What Jean had now were endless questions and nobody to answer them. He felt rudderless and lost, adrift without the steady presence of the kind-hearted boy that had quickly proved himself worthy of command. He was someone that Jean would gladly entrust his life to without hesitation or reservation. He was someone who would've gone far and done so much good with his talents if he only had the chance. 

"Kid? You okay there?" Allan's voice was worried. His hand weighed heavily on Jean's shaking shoulders. 

"Marco," Jean whispered. "His name was Marco Bodt." 

"...'s that the friend you lost?" 

Jean nodded, unwilling to trust his voice. 

Allan blew out a breath and fell silent. There was the faint murmur of conversation but Jean couldn't tell if the others were talking about their card game or if they were discussing the kid freaking out on their couch. Jean had thought he was past this blinding grief thing already. He knew that Marco was gone. He was dead. There was no way Jean could fool himself into thinking otherwise, not when he held his best friend's broken body in his arms and hauled it to the corpse wagon to be taken away. To be burned. The bodies of the dead were rotting and disease was another problem that humanity didn't need.

Really, Jean understood it. He accepted it. Marco died. A lot of people died. A lot of people more skilled than him died in ways they didn't deserve. That was just the way their world worked. Everyone else in the 104th seemed to move on from that disaster with little trouble, so why couldn't Jean? Was it because everyone else managed to escape with their best friends still among the living? Was it because he was bitter that Armin and Mikasa were granted a miracle and didn't have to learn how to cope with the knowledge that their mistakes cost Eren his life? 

Jean was pulled from his musings by the sound of Allan's voice. The older man sounded tired. 

"You and Antonio need to talk," he said. 

Jean shook his head immediately. "No, I don't think that's a good idea. I have nothing to say to him." Nothing except for apologies. 

"I think you'll find you two have more in common than you think," Allan said. He rest his head on the back of the couch and stared up at the ceiling. "Antonio is originally from up North. He transferred to the Scouting Legion from Garrison a few years back just so he could keep an eye on his cousin." Allan glanced at Jean out of the corner of his eyes. "He was in Trost that day too."

Jean sat frozen with a hand clutching his breast pocket in a white knuckled grip. He stared at Allan with haunted eyes and the only thing the Scouting Legion veteran could think was "these new recruits keep getting younger and younger". The older man sighed wearily.

"I'm not saying that you have to talk to him, but I think it'll do you two some good." 

Allan clapped a hand on Jean's shoulder and moved away to join the others at the card table. He wanted to give the kid a little breathing space but Jean gave no indication that he had heard or noticed the gesture. Jean continued to sit on the overstuffed couch, staring down at his hands, as the veterans quietly continued their card game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a new chapter to celebrate (sort of) dodging the Jossed tag for another month! The exchange with Sasha was originally fully written out before I decided it was better off summarized, so had to rewrite that section. Then I bought some new games and that delayed the chapter further. Sorry.
> 
> Oh, and in case you're wondering... yes, Marco has already made an appearance in the story and not just in flashback form.


	5. Chapter 5

Jean guessed that he spent a significant amount of time in a daze because when he finally tuned back into the outside world, the room was dead silent. 

He sat up and immediately felt something heavy slide from his shoulders. Jean reached back, wincing at the protest of his stiffened muscles, and grabbed a handful of that odd quilt made from sweater squares. Someone must have draped over his shoulders while he was out. It was probably the same person that left a large mug on the floor sitting right in his line of sight. Jean leaned forward and peered inside. It was filled with a dark coloured liquid that was either warm beer or cold tea, neither of which sounded very appealing, and Jean picked up the mug to cautiously sniff at the contents. 

Whatever it was, the liquid was neither tea nor alcohol. 

All he could tell was that it smelled awful and that it had to be the handiwork of Allan and his friends. Jean couldn't understand why they cared so much about a kid they barely knew but nevertheless, it was a really nice gesture. Touching, even. And while Jean did appreciate the gesture, after learning the older soldiers weren't above making childish and humiliating bets, he wasn't going to take any chances. 

Jean crossed the room to the open window and tipped the mug's contents into the bushes below. 

The door opened behind him. The old and rusty hinges squeaked in protest and Jean nearly screamed in fright. His hands jerked. The mug toppled. It fell out of the window for a heart-stopping couple seconds before Jean lunged and seized it in mid-air, but he didn't stop to savour the close call. Aware of the person behind him, Jean whirled around and hid the mug behind his back. 

Allan paused in the doorway. His eyes moved from the unoccupied couch, to the frozen smile on Jean's face, and over to the open window. 

"You're up," was all he said. 

Jean nodded stiffly. 

"Connie and that girl… Sasha? Are looking for you," Allan said. 

Jean asked, "Did they say what it's about?" and wondered if Allan saw him dumping the veterans' sympathy out the window.

"No. But if I had to guess, I'd say it's related to that mission you kids take off every night to tackle." Allan crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. "What the hell IS that mission, anyway?" 

Jean blinked, momentarily forgetting his fear of punishment. "You don't know about it?" 

"None of us heard a thing about it. Me and the others probably wouldn't have noticed at all if I didn't share a room with you and Connie." 

Jean was genuinely surprised. He had suspected that Allan and the other veteran soldiers were being kept out of the loop but he didn't actually have any evidence of that happening. Now he did. It was one of the things that Jean wanted to ask his older roommate about but couldn't think of a good way to broach the subject. Luckily, Allan solved the problem for him. 

"Wait, you're the only one that's sharing a room with the new recruits?" Jean asked. "Why? We divide up evenly and it's not like the Scouting Legion is short of rooms or anything…"

"That's nothing new. It's how things used to work in the old days but it changed once Erwin Smith took over," Allan said. "Commander Shadis thought it'd help morale and cut down on rowdiness if we shared rooms with the fresh meat."

Curious, Jean asked, "Did it work?"

"It depended on who you ended up with, same as anywhere else." Allan shrugged. "Personally? I liked the system. If your roommates get taken out, and at least one of them will, you don't get to wallow in an empty room for very long because congratulations! You have now graduated from Fresh Meat to Seasoned Meat and your reward is inexperienced new recruits of your own to keep an eye on. Who'll do their damned best to keep you too busy and distracted to feel sorry for yourself." 

"That sounds like the voice of experience," Jean said. "Is that why you didn't get upset at how Connie and I were stuffed in your room?"

"Yeah," Allan said with a lopsided grin. "Sure, I wasn't expecting to come back from my mission to find your and Connie's crap all over my room but that's only because those extra beds have been empty for a long time. Erwin really didn't agree with a lot of things Commander Shadis did."

Jean wondered about the name choice but decided not to comment on it. Instead, he asked "Do you know why Commander Smith changed it?"

"Who knows?" Allan waved a hand like he was shooing away a fly. "Erwin plays his cards very close to his chest. He doesn't tell us anything unless he has to."

"Sounds like Captain Levi," Jean muttered. 

"Those two are cut from the same cloth," Allan said, shaking his head. "So I'm going to guess that this means you're only slightly more informed about your weird mission than I am." 

Jean thought about what their orders were, specifically, and nodded. The orders never said that the 104th Graduates weren’t allowed to discuss their mission with other Scouting Legion soldiers, only that they weren't to do anything to reveal their position in the field. It was common sense to not talk about any mission that could dealing with spies but that was only conjecture on his and Sasha's part. Officially, they were watching the roads for suspicious activity and signs of thieves and that was it. 

"I don't see the harm in telling you," Jean said with a grin. 

"Oh? That was easy. I thought I'd have to twist your arm to get a straight answer." Allan arched his brows in surprise.

"If Captain Levi can't be bothered to pay attention while we're giving our reports then it can't be that big of a deal, right?" Jean said with an irritated shrug. 

"Right," Allan said. 

"So you didn't hear this from me, but he's got us out there looking for thieves," Jean said. "Except he's got no idea where they're coming from, what they look like, or anything else that could give us an idea of what we're searching for. We're just staking out roads and fields until we see something out of the ordinary and reporting back." 

Allan stared. "What, that’s it?"

"That's it," Jean said. 

"That's what they're running you kids ragged for? Thieves? Isn't that a job for the Military Police?" Allan shook his head and muttered something rude underneath his breath. "Anyway, you should get going. Even if the mission is make-work bullshit, an order is an order and there's no good reason to refuse. I'll escort you to the field so you don't get in trouble for being late." 

Jean didn't think it was necessary but he nodded his agreement and placed the empty mug on the card table as he passed. Jean followed Allan out to the practice field where the trainees were all supposed to meet up before heading out to their positions. It wasn't until they emerged from the building that Jean noticed just how low the sun was hanging in sky and realized that he actually was in danger of being punished for turning up late. 

How did he lose that much time? Did he really manage to spend most of the day moping? So much for catching up on his sleep.

Jean's eyes fell on Connie's figure, expressively waving his arms in the air as he spoke to Reiner and Sasha, and frowned. Suddenly remembering the last conversation they had, Jean's mood took an abrupt turn for the worse. Connie had come close to taking a shot at Jean's complete lack of close friends. Connie had nearly used Marco's death, of all things, to prove his point and for what purpose? It was because the little bald monkey didn't get enough sleep and blamed Jean for what someone else did, and all he could think about was how to make Jean suffer too. 

He really didn't think it was a good idea to trust someone who'd speak without thinking like that, but the problem was convincing Sasha to leave her friend completely in the dark. 

Allan clapped a hand on Jean's shoulder to get his attention and Jean pushed away the growing anger with a practiced shake of his head. He turned around and missed seeing Reiner pointing him out to the others he was standing with. 

"I don't see Captain Levi anywhere," Allan said. He grinned and squeezed Jean's shoulder. "It looks like you got away with it." 

"Great. Thanks for the escort," Jean said, "even though it turned out to be a complete waste of your time." 

Allan shrugged. "Unlike you, I'm off duty now. I can do whatever I want with my free time and if I want to spend it babysitting a rookie, then that's my choice." 

"Feeling nostalgic for the good old days?" Jean said with a small smile. 

Allan laughed as he walked away. "Something like that," he called over his shoulder. "I'll see you later, Kid."

"Who was that?" 

Jean's heart nearly stopped at the sound of Sasha's voice in his ear. Wasn't she all the way on the other side of the training field? How did she get over here so fast? She probably would've been delighted to see him leap out of his skin in fright but it was far too late for that to ever happen. Jean had too many years of experience with a certain freckled nuisance materializing without warning and without a sound, like a ghost, until he suddenly started talking from well inside Jean's personal bubble. Sasha didn't hold a candle to the undisputed master of accidentally scaring the living daylights out of people.

Jean turned around and calmly said, "What do you want now, Sasha?"

Sasha pouted for a second at being thwarted but recovered quickly. 

"Who was that old guy?" She asked again.

"Our roommate," Connie supplied the answer as he walked up. Following closely behind him was Reiner and trailing behind Reiner like a gloomy shadow, was Bertholdt. 

"What'd he want?" Sasha asked at the same time that Reiner commented.

"That's the first time I've seen one of the senior officers talking to us," Reiner said with an amazed stare at the back of Allan's head. 

"It was nothing important," Jean said airily. "Just a friendly warning." 

Sasha's eyes snapped to Jean's, wordlessly asking if this was related to their earlier conversations, and Jean fought back the urge to groan in dismay. They were supposed to be keeping a low profile! It was a minor blessing that Connie, Reiner and Bertholdt didn't appear to notice the sudden change in Sasha's demeanour. Bertholdt was alternately staring at his feet and out at the stables in the distance while Reiner and Connie were watching Jean and waiting for a response. 

Jean met their gazes evenly. He wasn't going to offer anything until they asked. 

Connie broke first. 

"Was it about our room? Did he get mad about being chased out by Sasha? He did, didn't he?" Connie turned to Sasha. "I told you to apologize! I don't want some cranky old veteran soldier pissed at me! I have to share a room with him!" 

"Hey, I'm not the only one to blame. You were shouting a lot too!" Sasha clutched Connie's arm and whispered, "He's not going to kill us, is he?" 

"I don't know! I've never talked to the guy before!" Connie said. 

"Speaking of apologizing," Reiner interjected before the two could really work themselves into a frenzy. "Jean, did Connie apologize properly yet?" 

"Apologize?" Jean echoed blankly. 

Connie cringed and paled at the disapproving frown that Reiner immediately turned on him. 

"Connie…" 

"I did!" Connie said defensively. 

"If you really did then Jean wouldn't look so confused right now." Reiner crossed his arms over his chest. 

Bertholdt reached out and tugged on the hem of Reiner's jacket to get his attention. Reiner immediately abandoned whatever speech he was preparing to give and turned around with a quizzical look. 

"Everyone else is leaving," Bertholdt pointed out. 

Reiner looked around. "You're right. We should find our partners." 

"Mine's right here, so I'm good!" Sasha latched on Jean's arm and laughed when he pulled away with an annoyed grunt. 

"Still, the rest of us should get moving before Captain Levi comes out here to check on us." Reiner said. 

The training field was empty except for them. Their assigned partners were likely at their assigned positions. It was different in the first couple days of surveillance when everyone was still on edge from whole mess with the failed attempt to capture the Female Type. Nobody wanted to travel alone and they made it a point to meet up in the training field before heading out together to their assigned positions. Now, after endless nights of absolutely nothing, they no longer felt the need for such diligence. 

"Man, I can't wait for this stupid assignment to be over!" Connie groaned as they all slowly made their way down the road toward their assigned positions. "I want to sleep when it's dark and not get up until it's light out." 

"I don't think anyone will disagree with you on that," Bertholdt said quietly. 

"That's easy for you to say. Not all of us are lucky enough to be able to fall asleep anytime, anywhere." Connie looked up at Bertholdt with shining eyes filled with hope. "So what's your secret? How do you do it? C'mon, be a pal and share your wisdom!" 

Bertholdt stammered a panicked "I- I don't know!" and turned pleading eyes at Reiner.

Reiner sighed wearily. "Connie, it's not something you can learn. It's like asking an insomniac how they're able to function on no sleep." 

Jean twitched and looked up in time to see Connie watching him with a stupid grin on his face. Jean narrowed his eyes and silently dared Connie to blurt out the words that were on the tip of his tongue. Go on, Jean snarled mentally, don't you want to share my business with everyone? What do you care about tact? After all, it's my fault for not appreciating how kind and generous you are for saying what I'm not willing to. That's what are friends for, right? 

But Connie didn't pick up on the warning in Jean's stare. Connie's grin only grew wider at the sight of it, taking it as a cue to keep going. He began to say "Well, Jean…" and that was all Jean needed to hear. 

Jean's lip curled in disgust. Sasha called out his name, asking him to wait, but Jean's response was to lengthen his stride and speed up. She turned to punch Connie in the arm and said "That was not cool." before running after Jean. 

"What'd I do?!" Connie cried, confused. "Why does he keep biting my head off? I'm trying to help!" 

Reiner rolled his eyes toward the sky in a silent plea for patience and cursed his bad luck for getting stuck with the role of team babysitter. He didn't remember life being quite this difficult when they were all still kids learning how to not kill themselves by flying full speed into a tree. Sure, he had to step in and break up a few fights but that wasn't very often. What was missing? Reiner turned around to ask Bertholdt what he thought but found nobody was there.

Bertholdt had escaped. 

Dismayed, Reiner stared at Bertholdt's rapidly retreating back as he chased Armin's distant form at a speed that rivaled Jean's. Reiner glanced back at Connie and wondered if perhaps his friend had the right idea. Connie was a nice enough kid but his sheltered upbringing showed in ways that Jean managed to outgrow a long time ago. He knew it wasn’t Connie's fault for being one of the few to grow up without really understanding what loss was and that resenting his good luck would accomplish nothing. 

However, that didn't stop Connie's cheery innocence from getting grating at times. It was easy to see why Jean kept losing his temper. 

"You should ask Eren," Reiner said sagely. And with luck, he would get angry enough on Jean's behalf to beat some sense into Connie's thick skull. 

"You think?" Connie said, trusting. 

Reiner almost felt bad when he said "Yeah. He can explain it better than me" before making a swift retreat of his own. 

Further down the road, Sasha finally managed to catch up with Jean. His long legs covered a lot of distance but Sasha was able to keep running for much longer than him, all thanks to those times she had to run laps as punishment. He had slowed to a brisk walk by the time she pulled even with him and Jean glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. From the crease between his brows to the tension in his shoulders, it was clear that Jean was suspicious of her motives for chasing after him. Sasha tried to lighten the mood with a reassuring smile but it only had the opposite effect. 

"Save your breath if you're here to make me apologize to Connie for overreacting," Jean snapped irritably. 

Sasha shook her head. "Relax, I'm on your side."

"Now that's a surprise."

"I don't always take Connie's side," Sasha protested. 

"You'd normally be right there with him, having fun at my expense." Jean narrowed his eyes. "What's with the change of heart?" 

Sasha thought about all the times she caught Jean clutching at something in his breast pocket, and how he kept offering to take her shifts on watch, and how she never managed to catch him sleeping or dozing off during them. 

"I dunno," she said. "Connie doesn't know how stressed you are. You should've gone easier on him but, yeah, he went a bit too far this time." 

Jean scrubbed a hand through his hair, not bothering to deny or justify his actions, and asked "Do I really look that bad?" after a long silence. 

Sasha nodded. 

"Um, don't take this the wrong way," she said hesitantly, "but do you have any relaxing hobbies? Like, I snack when I need to unwind or I go hangout with Krista and Ymir. What do you do?" 

Jean stared at her. "Good question," he mumbled when absolutely nothing came to mind. He tried to remember the last time he really lost his temper and what he did afterwards. Ruling out all the times that ended in a visit to the infirmary, what he came up with was: "I go somewhere far away from other people until I don't feel like punching anyone anymore." 

Sasha made a face. "That's what you're doing now and that's really not working. At all. There's got to be something you're forgetting." 

"I can't think of anything." Jean shrugged. "Well… Marco kept me company sometimes if I stayed out too late. Does that count? You know how he worries. Worried."

"Oh. Um, yeah, I think you need a new strategy since your old way's kind of…" She nervously flapped her hands. "…missing an important piece?" 

"I noticed." 

"Well… that’s good?" 

Jean didn't respond and Sasha bit her lip as an awkward silence fell over them. The only sounds were that of the gravel road crunching beneath their boots and hidden birds calling to each other in the tall and overgrown grass. Jean doing his gloomy thousand-yard stare thing again. The expression reminded her uncomfortably of the old folks back home that her dad was always careful to treat extra nice for reasons he was never willing to explain. Maybe that was why Jean was able to mingle with the older soldiers so easily when the rest of them could barely work up the nerve to call them by their names. 

"Oh, that's right! I nearly forgot," Sasha said brightly, refusing to let Jean's bad mood infect her. "What was that earlier with the old guy?"

Jean stared at her blankly, startled from his thoughts and slow to recover. "Huh?"

"Your roommate. You know, the guy you were talking to when we arrived?" Sasha pointed back down the road toward the Scouting Legion's Headquarters. "Didn't you say he gave you a warning? What was it?" 

"Warning? Oh..." Jean rubbed the back of his neck. "That was a lie." 

"A lie?!" Sasha echoed. 

"Half a lie," Jean amended. "We're supposed to be keeping a low profile, remember? That means not blurting out things we're investigating when there's a chance that it'll get back to the ears of people that mean us and the Scouting Legion harm." 

"But we can trust those guys," Sasha protested. 

"I thought we discussed this already," Jean groaned wearily. "Are we really going to waste another day arguing about it when I have new information to share?" 

"New info? Like what?" Sasha said. "Please let it be good news." 

Jean shook his head. "I haven't figured out how it connects yet, if it does at all, so I'll leave it up to you to decide if it's good or bad." 

"I already don't like the sound of this."

Jean shrugged and launched into an explanation. 

"The veteran soldiers don't have any idea what we're doing out here," Jean said. "And apparently, none of them would even know that we were are out here every night if it wasn't for Allan. He's the older guy you saw me with. Allan is the only senior Scouting Legion officer that's got a shared rooming assignment with the new recruits, as far as he knows, and let me tell you now that he knows a lot of stuff."

"Now that you mention it, I don't think any of us have ever worked with the older soldiers." 

"Exactly."

Sasha tapped her chin with a finger as she thought. "What about Eren? But, wait, I guess he's sort of a special case and doesn't count. Oh, I got it! Krista's on a squad with older guys! I think Ymir said they were on loan from Captain Levi or Hange or something since we don't divide up evenly into squads. That counts, right?"

Jean grimaced. 

"Why are you making that face? Stop making that face. This is good news, right?" Sasha said.

"I've been wondering about something for a while," Jean said hesitantly. "And what you and Allan said is really making my hunch look more like it might be the truth." 

"Ohhhh… this sounds like really bad news." Sasha slumped over and whined "Jean you big jerk, why didn't you warn me you're such a trouble magnet?" 

"You're calling me trouble?" Jean scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Anyway, you would've had ample warning if Marco really talked about me as much as you claim." 

"He made it sound harmless," Sasha protested. "You know, like you're an endless fountain of funny anecdotes and stories? Nothing like this." She sighed. "Okay, what's your hunch?" 

"You're not backing out?" Jean said with genuine surprise. "It's not too late, you know. I won't take you down with me if that's what you're worried about."

Sasha shook her head. 

Jean's pace slowed as they reached a nearly invisible route branching off the main road. The dirt path was barely visible through the overgrown grass and bushes that had taken it over. It was originally an animal path and as such, it meandered over hills and through forests and across streams before finally reaching its destination. The path was repurposed into the main connection between Trost and the Scouting Legion back in the days when there were still expeditions outside Wall Maria. Not surprisingly, the road was quickly abandoned when the Scouting Legion changed the location of their main headquarters. The old road remained unused when the Scouting Legion chose to come back. 

Instead, perhaps because they completely forgot that a route already existed, the Scouting Legion commissioned the construction of a nice new straight road. It was the very one Jean and Sasha and all the other new recruits were using. The old road fell even further out of the collective memories of everyone that wasn't a long-time native of Trost and even then, the only people in Trost that knew how to find it were those with a good reason to come out this way. 

Jean briefly wondered if the Scouting Legion's thief was someone he knew from his hometown before dismissing the thought with a shake of his head. There'd be time to worry about that later. Jean finally answered Sasha's question with visible reluctance.

"This is still speculation, but I don't like the way I keep finding evidence to support this theory." Jean paused. "It looks an awful lot like someone is manufacturing a division inside the Scouting Legion. Specifically, the older soldiers that are primarily loyal to Shadis and the other former commanders are being kept away from newer recruits, namely us." 

"That doesn't make sense. What about the old guys on Krista's squad? Are you saying that they're lumped in with us?" 

"Yeah. I thought it was just us being picked on at first but from what you said, I think the division is more like… who you're willing to follow? We don't know any other Scouting Legion leader but Commander Smith and those loaner guys were from his direct subordinates' hand-picked squads. It fits." Jean made a face. "Oh damn it."

"What now?" Sasha looked at him with alarm. "Did you just think of something to make it worse? Can it get worse? Stop making it worse!"

"I just remembered that Eren said he had his loyalty tested by Commander Smith once, before the whole Female Type mess blew up in our faces." Jean groaned. "He said the guys at the top were worried about a spy."

"Isn't that Annie?" 

"Eren said they were worried about information leaks from inside the Scouting Legion. Annie is Military Police." Jean stared down the road. "She'd have to have an accomplice feeding her details from here. If they found all the spies then why are we still be out here looking for 'suspicious activity'? The problem clearly hasn't gone away. And why did they ask new recruits like us to investigate anyway? We're not exactly qualified for this sort of job. Nobody in their right mind would do something like this unless he thought the only people he can use are ones that joined after the problems started."

"Jean? Jean! Stop that, okay? These could be two totally different and unrelated problems." Sasha held up her hands like she was trying to calm jumpy animal. "Maybe we're just overreacting."

"Do you think I'm overreacting? Be honest, here." 

Sasha was saved from having to think of a response by the distinctive sound of hooves. A horse? No, she corrected herself as she cocked her head to listen closely, it was multiple horses. Why were multiple horses coming their way? She looked at Jean and found an identical puzzled look on his face but he recovered first. 

"Get down!" Jean grabbed Sasha's shoulder and shoved her. 

"What? H- hey!" She yelped as she tumbled into the overgrown bushes by the roadside. Sasha tried to climb out, only to be pushed back with a firm hand as Jean crawled in after her. 

"Keep your voice down," Jean hissed. "What if that's who we're looking for?" 

The anger on Sasha's face disappeared instantly. She clapped her hands over her mouth and nodded vigorously enough to get her hair tangled in the branches. Thankfully, she didn't make a noise and set about freeing her hair in careful silence while Jean kept an eye on the road. He didn't have to wait long before the sound of horses grew to a thundering rhythm they could feel in the ground beneath them. The rider crested the short hill and came into view, slowing to a less frantic pace with several horses in tow. 

Green cloak. Dirty white pants and brown knee-high boots. A glimpse of blue on the chest when the bottom edge of the cloak blew back. No 3DMG harness. There was something bulky attached to all of the horses' saddles. The rider's face was… one of the guys from the stables? 

Jean tapped Sasha on the shoulder, pointed at the rider, and mimed "Go out there? Stay?"

Sasha whispered, "I know that guy. He's fine. The only things he cares about are equine related."

"I hope you're right…" 

Jean waited until the guy was just past them before climbing out of the bushes and calling to get his attention. The guy turned back immediately and reached them just as Sasha was getting to her feet and dusting off her pants. 

"There you two are! Thank goodness you didn't get very far," The guy pressed a hand to his chest with an earnest expression of relief. 

Sasha, as the only one that actually had a conversation with the guy before, decided that it would be best if she did all the talking. Jean backed off without a fight. He crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to be completely absorbed in keeping watch.

"Haven't seen you around for a while," She said brightly. "What's up?"

"I've got new marching orders for you, effective immediately." 

The guy sorted through the bundle of reins and picked out the ones for Sasha and Jean's horses from the others. He leaned down and pushed them into her hand. Sasha mechanically accepted the reins and immediately passed them over to Jean as she stared up at the guy with confusion written all over her face. 

"What's going on?" She asked.

"A patrol ran into a bunch of Aberrant Types and sent up a signal for help. That way." The guy pointed over the grassy field and in the distance was the faint trail of dissipating smoke. "You kids the only ones ready to head out now." 

"More Aberrant Types? Inside the walls?" Jean's hands tightened around the reins. "Where the hell did they come from?!"

"How should I know? Maybe some escaped from Trost!" The guy from the stables snapped. He turned to Sasha. "The Captain spotted the signal and told me to get you guys out there ASAP to back up the patrol and buy some time while the others mobilize. They'll meet you there. Now, where did the rest of you go?" 

Sasha gave a halting description of the positions of everyone else as Jean unwrapped the bundle taking up most of the space on his saddle. It was his gear. He attached the cases and tanks to the support plates with practiced speed and turned to help Sasha with hers. It sounded like time was of the essence. He stepped away, leaving her to do the final adjustments on her own, and scrambled up on his horse's back.

"Okay, got it. Thanks Sasha. You're a lifesaver." The guy from the stables saluted and headed off down the road. 

Sasha didn't say anything in reply as the messenger from the stables was already too far away to hear it. She double-checked the gear attachments and lines, made a few quick adjustments, and swung into her own saddle. Jean barely waited long enough for her to settle on her horse before turning toward the fading smoke signal. She didn't bother trying to get his attention. After all, Jean's panic was perfectly understandable. Hearing that titans were so close to his hometown again must've stirred up a lot of bad memories. 

They rode in complete silence until they reached the trees and had to slow down. Jean glanced over. 

"I'm sure the others will catch up in no time," Sasha said in response to the stricken look on his face. "Let's keep going. I'll watch your back out there." 

"Don't you dare die on me too." 

"D- don't worry so much!" Sasha thumped a fist on her chest with a smile that wobbled at the memory of the last person to betray Jean's trust. "Believe me, I like being alive."

Jean turned away without a word and urged his horse to speed up. After a small eternity, the trees began to thin out and smoke trail became visible once more through the branches. The sky was already painted in brilliant shades of red and orange. 

He cursed. 

A battle with low visibility was the last thing he wanted to deal with but what other choice did they have? Titans were normally supposed to become dormant at night so maybe they'd all be able to come out of this unscathed if they were lucky. Normal Titans. What they were facing were multiple Aberrant Types. Who knew how long those could stay awake and active past sunset? And for that matter, what if what they were facing weren't Aberrant Titans, but Shifters like Annie and Eren? 

Jean was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the change around them until his horse reacted. There. The distinctive high-pitched screech of the 3DMG turbine. It wasn't too late. Thank goodness they arrived in time. Jean took a deep breath and turned around. 

"Follow my lead and don't do anything stupid. We don't have to kill anything, just keep everyone safe until help arrives. Got it?" 

Sasha nodded. "You can count on me!"

"Okay. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Action! I was going to put the fight in this chapter but covering everything I plan to would mean the chapter would be something like 3x longer (and take about that much longer to write). This seems like a good place to stop.
> 
> And thanks for all the comments! :D I'd reply but I'm constantly tempted to give out spoilers, so...


	6. Chapter 6

"Sasha, can you figure out where they are?"

She shouted to be heard over the sound of their horses. "I think so. This way!" 

"Good," Jean said grimly. "Let's try to get as close as we can to them on horseback. We don't know anything about the situation so don't do anything to waste gas. Got it?"

"Huh?" Sasha peered over her shoulder. "But headquarters is right over there."

"It's pretty damn far to run if we need to resupply," Jean snapped. "And even if we got there, we don't even know if they have enough supplies for everyone. Remember? You're the one that figured that out!"

"Oh yeah," Sasha laughed sheepishly. "So what do you want to do?"

"Look for survivors from the patrol. We need to know what they saw. And then…" Jean scrubbed a hand through his hair with an irate growl, thinking frantically. "I don't know, regroup with the others? Will we even be able to find them?" 

"They'll want to follow the Old Road if they're coming on horseback too," Sasha said. "I'm sure we'll bump into them if we go back that way."

Jean shook his head. "I'm not so sure I can navigate my way back," he admitted reluctantly.

"Oh, that's right! I forgot you have zero sense of direction." 

Jean ignored Sasha's teasing laughter and focused his attention on trying to pick out the sounds of the patrol's gear. The gear's distinctive high-pitched whine came from several directions. Jean knew that the land was too flat and the hills were too soft for echoes to be cause. That probably meant that the patrol split up at some point. Why? It was safer to take on Aberrant Types in a team rather than alone. What happened? 

"Over there!" Sasha's arm shot up. "I saw metal!" 

"On it! Stay with the horses. I'll be right back." 

Jean rose to a crouch in his saddle, fired the hooks into the trees above, and leapt before reeling himself in to avoid clipping Buchwald's head when his horse moved to follow Sasha. Jean landed lightly on a branch and raked his eyes over the dimly lit canopy in search of whatever it was that Sasha saw from the ground. Nothing. He wanted to shout, to check if the patrol was still within earshot but his gut said that it was a bad idea to do anything attention getting when they didn't have the faintest idea what they were up against. For all he knew, the Aberrant Types that ambushed the patrol could be the kind that tracked by sound rather than sight. 

Fortunately, the patrol had heard the sound of horses and realized that backup had arrived. A hook lodged itself into the trunk of the tree that Jean was standing on and he had to step back quickly to avoid being struck by the Scouting Legion soldier that joined him. A short distance away, another figure in brown and green landed on a branch. It was a male soldier but he was too far away to make out any details. 

"Holy shit, you're just a kid! You're our backup?" A female soldier said, disbelief colouring her words and making them seem harsher than she probably intended. 

Jean stared at her. She was an older woman with reddish hair pulled back in an extremely practical and unflattering bun. The light was too dim to see what her rank was. Jean resisted his initial impulse, which was to cross his arms and glare, and instead nodded politely. 

"We're the closest ones to your position but others are on their way," Jean said. "What's going on here?"

"If you saw the signal, you should know." The red-haired woman tossed her head and curled her lip with disgust. "A whole mess of Aberrant Types popped up out of fucking nowhere. Where the hell were they hiding all this time? Garrison said nothing escaped from Trost! That's the last time I'll believe anything those lazy bastards say." 

Jean cleared his throat. "How many people are in your patrol?" 

"How many people did HQ send as backup?" The woman shot back, annoyed at being interrupted. 

"I don't know," Jean said honestly. It wasn't a complete lie. He didn't know how many people were being sent out from headquarters to back up the patrol and the new recruits. 

"Oh please," the woman scoffed. "You have some idea." 

"Ten are nearby, including myself and my partner down there." Jean pointed down at where Sasha was circling below with the horses. "More are on the way." 

Jean didn't know why he didn't want to mention anyone's names. It was probably just the paranoia speaking but so far, all of Jean's bad hunches turned out to be at least partially right. Now was probably not a good time to start ignoring his instinct. If he was wrong about the patrol's reasons for being out so far beyond the usual route then he'd apologize later. 

The woman's sour expression didn't change. 

"What's the situation here?" Jean repeated, more insistently this time. "How many people are in your patrol and what can we do to help?"

The woman glanced over at her companion in the other tree before answering Jean's questions. 

"There were five of us," she said. "Our leader was blindsided by an Aberrant and eaten, leaving me in charge as next highest ranked since the boss' actual Second in Command got a line snagged and fell. She's back there." The woman pointed back the way they came, deeper into the woods. "No idea if she's still alive."

"Where's your fifth member?" Jean asked. 

"No idea." The woman shrugged. "Lost sight of him when the fighting broke out." 

It was clear from the casual way she dismissed the matter that she had already written off the fifth member of the patrol off as dead. She probably also assumed that the Second in Command was a goner too if the vague was she flapped her hand over her shoulder was any indication. The body language of only other confirmed survivor of the patrol said that he was tense, alert for any signs of approaching Titans, but otherwise unconcerned about anything not directly related to their survival. 

Jean could understand the practicality of the attitude but he could feel his hackles rise in unconscious revulsion at the thought of abandoning someone for dead. Was the life of a teammate, even a temporary one, such a cheap thing? Even if they didn't know each other or like each other, wasn't the Scouting Legion in desperate need of every able-bodied soldier they could get their hands on? If this sort of attitude was widespread in the Scouting Legion then it would go a long way toward explaining the horrific fatality rate. 

Sasha's voice called "What's going on up there" at them and Jean shook his head sharply. He pushed aside his disgust in favour of more immediate concerns. 

"If you think I'm going back there to fight them off with a couple of kids, you're out of your fucking mind." The woman said bluntly. 

Jean scowled. "At least tell me what you saw out there so we can warn the others! How many Titans were there? How many seemed like Aberrant Types? Did they show any behaviour that could be used against them? Stuff like that! Anything'll help." 

"I didn't see." The woman shouted over to the man in the other tree. "Hey! How many did you count?"

"At least three," the man shouted back, "maybe more!"

"There you have it." The woman said, "Way too many for the two of us to kill with a couple of kids I've never seen before." 

"Of course we're not going to kill them ourselves!" Jean snapped, "I'm not suicidal!"

"Then what's your plan, kid? I assume you didn't just come rushing out here for shits and giggles." The woman crossed her arms over her chest and sneered. 

Jean scrubbed a hand through his hair and choked down the urge to say something he would regret. This was a superior officer, he reminded himself sternly, and you need their help. It was hard to keep his temper under control. He didn't know how guys like Marco managed to deal with rude assholes all day and still manage to keep that sunny and cheery attitude of his from fading. Jean also found himself wondering why people were asking him what to do again. It was one thing for Sasha to look for direction from someone else, but these guys? Didn't the red-haired soldier outrank him? If anything she should be the one ordering them around. 

He guessed that the two confirmed surviving members of the patrol were low enough in the command structure that they didn't want to assume command of the rescue operation and all it entailed. The patrol leader was dead and the Second in Command was missing and they were more than happy to hand over responsibility to anyone willing to take charge, even a fresh recruit like Jean whose track record inspired very little confidence. Jean would be just as happy to keep his head down and take orders too but he couldn't bring himself to run away while there were two guys nearby that might not be beyond saving. 

"Hey, come up here for a second!" Jean yelled down at Sasha. 

Sasha joined him in the trees moments later. Below, their horses stayed in place. Sort of. They didn't immediately head back in the direction of headquarters but instead, in a show of how concerned they were about the Titan infestation in the forest, wandered off a few meters to graze on a bush. 

"Yeah?" Sasha said as she landed next to them. "You have a plan?"

"Do either of you know where exactly your Second in Command fell?" Jean turned to look at the woman from the patrol. 

"He saw where she went down." The red-haired soldier pointed at her companion. 

"Okay. I can work with this." 

Jean's eyes were unfocused as his mind darted over the possibilities. He summoned up fuzzy memories of days spent playing in the woods with his parents and overlaying the topography with what could remember of the typical patrol routes and applying his half-formed theories about Titan behaviour based on what he saw in Trost and what was taught in class. Sasha wasn't nearly as familiar with the woods as he, but she was one of the best in their year at navigating in a forest and tracking prey so it stood to reason that Sasha had the best chance of finding the missing soldier and making it back out in a timely manner. Earlier, Sasha said that she'd be able to intercept their fellow 104th graduates and any other Scouting Legion soldier that came from headquarters and Jean believed her. She could do it. The others needed to know what they were getting themselves into and Jean was humble enough to know that his poor navigation skills would only slow her down. 

He turned to Sasha. 

"I want you and that guy over there to take the horses and look for the patrol's Second in Command. If it looks like she can be helped then try to save her. If…" Jean swallowed hard. "Well, you're pretty good at telling what's a fatal wound and what's not. Use your judgement. The important thing is getting to the others and telling them that there are multiple Aberrants. No heroics, alright?"

"Uh, okay." Sasha blinked, too surprised to argue. "What about you?"

"Me and her are going to backtrack and see if we can't round up the missing fifth member of the patrol." 

"Oh we are, are we?" The woman echoed, amused. 

"Yeah. If- if that's okay with you?" Jean suddenly remembered that he and Sasha were the lowest ranked and least experienced people present and adjusted his tone accordingly. 

"I don't mind," the older female soldier drawled lazily. "But why should we bother risking our necks to look for someone who's already dead?"

"If it was you in that guy's place, wouldn't you want your team to come back for you even if it was a stupid idea?" Jean was proud of how he managed to say that without a hint of anger. "We don't know for sure that she's a goner."

She made a face and conceded with a blasé "I guess you've got a point."

"So what are you thinking?" Sasha asked nervously. 

Jean pressed his lips into a line and glanced back toward town. "I was thinking that we should leave the Titans alone unless they start heading toward Trost or headquarters. It's too reckless to fight them with just us, so we're not. We'll lure them back into the woods if we have to but nothing more than that. Let's find out what we can and report back to everyone else. If anyone gets separated, then head for where the Old Road enters the forest and try to meet up with everyone else there. The senior officers will know what to do next."

"Sounds like a plan," the woman clapped her hands. "Let's get on with it. Daylight's fading fast." 

Sasha squeezed Jean's shoulder and said "You'd better come back too, okay?" before propelling herself across the space to land next to the male survivor of the patrol who was keeping watch. 

"What do you know about riding horses in the woods at night?" Sasha said. 

"That I shouldn't," the guy said with a self-deprecating smile. "It looked like you knew what you were doing so how about I spot from the air while you follow a short distance back with the horses? I've got really good eyes but so-so combat ability. I wasn't anywhere near the top of my class back then and I'm still not that great here. I'm usually the lookout. You?" 

Sasha gave an awkward and nervous giggle and said, "Ninth overall and I don't really have a specialty." 

The guy looked impressed. "Wow, ninth? What the hell are you doing out here then?" When he saw how uncomfortable Sasha became, the guy was quick to dismiss his question. "Well, whatever. I'm not going to pry. Everyone's got their own reasons for joining up." 

Sasha gave him a grateful smile. "Where did you lose sight of your Second in Command?" 

"That way." 

The guy pointed and described the route they took to flee the Aberrant Titans that ambushed them to the best of his ability. He told Sasha bluntly that there were no point in looking for the patrol squad's leader because there was no way a human could survive being torn apart and eaten like that. And even if the squad's leader found a way to survive it, the damage from when the Aberrant Type punched him out of the air would have caused permanent paralysis at the very least. Death would be more merciful. Sasha nodded and dropped down to the forest floor to round up her and Jean's horses. 

When the male soldier lowered himself to a branch closer to ground, Sasha hesitantly asked what happened to the patrol's Second in Command.

"Snagged a line and went down," the male soldier said. "She was trying to rescue the boss when another Aberrant arrived and her line got caught on it. I think she managed to cut herself free to avoid getting wrapped around the Aberrant's arm but I'm not sure. We were too far away by that point." 

"You left her behind?" Sasha protested, squeezing her horse's reins and feeling a little faint. 

"That idiot went back on her own even though I said not to." The guy snapped irritably. "I said it was a lost cause but she wouldn't listen to anyone. But what do you care? We're going back to save her sorry ass now, aren't we?" 

"I- yeah, it's none of my business." 

Sasha wondered if the guy heard Jean telling her to abandon any efforts to save the patrol's Second in Command if it looked too dangerous. It didn’t seem like sacrificing the patrol's Second in Command was an idea that the male soldier supported. The guy could react badly and go off on his own even if things looked hopeless. Sasha was pretty sure she'd be able to escape alone if the patrol guy abandoned her, but… Jean. He'd do that disappointed but resigned thing again. Jean wouldn't blame her or anyone else for what happened. Instead, he'd act like the failure to keep losses at a minimum was entirely his fault because he was the one who suggested a course of action. 

It seemed like Jean had fully recovered from the near destruction of Trost, much like everyone else, but Sasha wasn't so sure anymore. "Jean's surprisingly delicate" said the memory of a voice as it drifted through her mind "and he will self-destruct if you leave him alone". Sasha remembered asking Marco why he put up with someone so rude and fussy and high-maintenance when he didn't have to, and not once did she receive a straight answer from him. 

The older and hopefully wiser Sasha could almost understand why Marco couldn't bring himself to abandon Jean but she was pretty sure that her reasons for sticking by Jean's side were different from his. After all, the Jean Kirstein that Sasha and the others knew was broken in ways that Marco's never was. People dying on Jean's orders again could just easily strengthen his resolve as it could completely shatter it. The last thing any of them needed right now was for the only person with an idea of how to get out of this mess to fall to severely traumatised pieces. 

"I found her hook," the male soldier called down, startling Sasha out of her morose thoughts. Tiny slivers of wood rained down on her as the sound of his 3DMG's turbine cut. "The end of the line's not frayed. She must've cut it. She couldn't have gone far…"

Sasha stood in her stirrups and scanned the nearby foliage for the telltale signs of something breaking through at great speed. There were unnatural gigantic depressions in the soil where the Titans passed through but their tracks didn't look like they were pursing anything at a great speed. Aberrant Types, Sasha reminded herself. They didn't follow the normal logic of animals or humans. Her eyes fell on a young tree that was growing at an odd angle she took note the freshly disturbed soil at the trunk's base. 

"I think I see where she went down," Sasha said as she rode closer. "Oh yeah, this is where she hit the ground. I see skid marks in the soil and there's—" she grimaced. "There's blood. A lot of it."

There was a faint, barely detectable quaver in the male soldier's voice when he called down after a pause, "Does it look like she's bled out?"

Sasha shook her head before remembering that the other soldier couldn't see it from his position.

"I won't lie," she said. "It looks really bad. I don't know for sure, but the trail leads off that way so she might still be alive. Do you want to keep looking?" 

"Please." The older soldier said. "But if it looks too bad… then let's just forget it and go back. Like your partner said." 

Partner? Who? Sasha wondered about the word choice before realizing that Jean's paranoia must be at work again. Really, Jean? Was now really the time to worry about potential fallout from internal politics? But then again, Jean was proving himself to have astonishingly good instincts as far as rooting out trouble was concerned and he did manage to uncover a lot of information on his own. He was also pretty good at keeping his head on straight in an emergency. Maybe all of Marco's unsolicited praise wasn't completely biased baloney. 

"I'll see if I can find her but I need you to make really sure that nothing sneaks up on me." Sasha shook a finger up at the patrol soldier. "I'm trusting you with my life here, buddy. Don't you dare run away. I swear I'll haunt you for the rest of your life if you do!" 

"I won't." The guy gave her a genuine, relieved smile. 

Meanwhile, back where they parted ways, Jean and the red-haired soldier kept watch until Sasha and the male soldier completely disappeared from view. 

"Is that girl any good?" The female soldier asked. 

"She graduated in the top ten of our year," Jean said. He declined to mention you never really knew if you'd get the Sasha that panicked and ran from danger, or the one that could face it calmly. He didn't want to give the older soldier any excuse to run away. 

"What about you?" 

Jean frowned. "Do you really want to waste time interrogating me when we should be trying to find your missing squad member? I'm don't know if you two are any good either, but I'm not wasting time questioning your credentials." 

"I'm not the new recruit here." 

"Yeah? Well, I don't have to help you. I can leave and say I never managed to find you." Jean crossed his arms and remembered the direction the two were travelling in when he and Sasha spotted them. "If I left, would you be able to find the way back?" 

"Of course I could!" The female soldier hesitated, then pointed. "HQ is that way."

Jean laughed and shook his head, amused that, for once, he wasn't the one who was hopelessly lost. 

"It's… not that way?" She looked surprised. 

Jean grabbed her extended arm and swung it over 90 degrees to the right, forcing her to turn. "Headquarters is that way." He swung her arm over to the left and forcing her to turn again. "Trost is that way." He moved her arm back the original position and let go. "You'll hit Wall Sina, near Hermina, if you go straight that way for long enough." 

The red-haired soldier turned faintly pink. "Navigation isn't my strong point. So what?! You know your way around here so it's not like you really need my help." 

The words "the blind leading the blind" immediately popped into Jean's head. He wondered if he should mention that it was pure luck that the patrol got lost in a part of the woods outside Trost that Jean was actually familiar with. He normally wasn't much better at navigation than her but… no, that would only be asking for trouble. And besides, having a vague idea of where to go was better than no idea at all.

"Do you think you can lead us back to where you encountered the Aberrants?" Jean asked. 

"I can backtrack with no problems," she said confidently. 

"Lead on then." Jean said. 

She gave Jean a dirty look before firing her hooks and taking off. 

Jean followed her at a distance that was slightly farther than necessary as a precaution. If a fight broke out, it would be easy to get their lines crossed or make some other fatal mistake. Fighting in close proximity to other people required either extremely good communication or a near perfect understanding of the other person's style and habits, neither of which was present between the two of them. Jean didn't even know if she really was one of them. After joining the Scouting Legion, Jean made it a point to memorize the faces of everyone that participated in their training exercises and he couldn't remember ever seeing the red-haired woman or the man that was with her. 

It was possible that she was a senior member like Allan and his friends and was therefore being kept away from the new recruits, but something about the way she carried herself made Jean feel uneasy. She was hiding something. He only hoped it was something relatively harmless like, guilt over abandoning her teammates, and not something big. 

The guttural roar pierced the night air. The inhuman noise was followed closely by the sound of snapping metal and the high-pitched whine of the 3DMG. The red-haired woman's entire frame tensed and Jean only had enough time to shout an ineffective "Wait!" before she was gone, zipping toward the sound of combat at a completely reckless speed. Jean swore and chased after her.

"You idiot," Jean shouted as soon as he was within earshot. "I said no heroics! You're going to get all of us killed!"

The woman glared. "He needs help!" 

"You're the one that left him for dead and didn't want to come back," Jean reminded her harshly. 

"Fuck you, brat." The woman snarled. "If you're not going to help then get the hell out of my way. We can take care of ourselves." 

"You ungrateful—" Jean ground his teeth in an effort to control his temper. Now was not the time to explode and let her know just what he thought about her decision making skills. "Rushing in blindly will only make things worse!" 

She turned abruptly and Jean, mentally cursing the red-haired soldier and everyone that ever trained her, nearly missed the reason why she swerved. A startled "Fuck!" escaped as he twisted to avoid the shattered blade that passed through the space he was occupying moments ago. Shards of metal pierced material of the jacket where Jean was too slow to move out of the path, scoring deep cuts into the back of his arm before snagging on the fabric and halting before it could do any more damage. 

Jean halted on a branch and tugged the pieces of the shattered blade free before tossing them to the ground below.

Blood was beginning to flow freely from the wound. That was going to be trouble. The blood could damage the triggers or cause them to slip from his hands. He didn't have time to stop and treat the wound properly and even if he wanted to, everything he could've used was back in his horse's saddle bags. 

Jean settled for rolling the sleeve up until the material was snug around his forearm. It would have to do for now. He looked up and was not surprised to see that the woman from the patrol hadn't waited for him. In the distance, he could hear the sound of two 3DMG engines at work and the heavy breathing of the monstrous titans. There were no other clues as to where the red-haired woman went so Jean had no choice but to follow his ears until he managed to catch sight of the missing patrol members. 

And through a break in the trees, he saw them. Jean caught sight of the battle and felt faint from despair because there were three of them. Three unusually intelligent Aberrant Types. 

They looked smarter than any of the Aberrant Types the Jean ever read about or encountered before. 

Two of them were chasing a terrified soldier with shattered blades attached to his triggers. Even in the low light, Jean could see blood creeping up the soldier's white pants from below the knee. That leg was probably broken. The soldier was slow to react, moving on pure instinct as pain and panic crowded out all rational thought. He didn't see that he was being led around by the Aberrant Types – one gave chase and kept the soldier panicked and distracted while the other circled around to get into killing range. 

The red-haired female soldier was trying to get close enough to rescue the man. It looked like she was shouting at him but it was clear from the male soldier's movements that he didn't hear a word she was saying. Every time the red-haired woman tried to get in a position to catch the male soldier's attention and let the man know that he was no longer fighting alone, the third of the Aberrant Types moved to block her path. It only gave chase long enough to make her retreat before turning its attention back to the male soldier. 

The teamwork between the Aberrant Types didn't look like pure coincidence. 

Hange would be delirious with joy to see such unusual behaviour but all Jean could feel was dread. 

He shuddered to think what it could mean if these were just Aberrant Type Titans and not Shifters. Unlike the bodies of Shifters, Aberrant Types looked visually identical to the Standard Types. It was difficult enough to deal with regular kind that only reacted based on some sort of primal instinct. Adding any degree of intelligence to the mix would be disastrous for humankind's chances of survival. 

"Stop trying to kill them already!" Jean screamed at the red-haired soldier. "You're not helping!" 

The woman swerved and, luckily, managed to avoid getting her line caught by the watchful third Aberrant Type. She dug her fingers into a gap in the tree's trunk below where her line was embedded in the wood and shot Jean a glare that would make Captain Levi proud. She jabbed a finger in the direction of her panicked squad-mate and shouted back. 

"He's going to die unless I do something!" 

"You're going to die if you keep throwing yourself at them like that!" Jean shouted back. He waved a blade at the trio of Aberrant Types. "Can't you see they're smarter than normal? The normal tactics won't work!" 

"So a brat like you is an expert on Titan behaviour now?" The woman sneered. 

"I don't need to be an expert to see that there's something weird about the way they're acting." Jean growled. His hands shook with the effort to keep his voice at a reasonable volume. "You'd be able to see it too if you'd just calm down a little. I wanna save the guy too but rushing in and throwing away our lives isn't the way to do it. If we're going to die, it should at least serve a purpose." 

The woman glanced over at her squad-mate, sour-faced and furious but beginning to see what Jean was trying to say. 

"What's your plan then?" The woman said reluctantly. 

Jean jumped slightly. He didn't think that far ahead. He was only concerned with stopping her before she could do something stupid and irreversible. It was tempting to keep acting like he knew what to do but regardless of his opinion of her, the patrol soldiers were more experienced than him and they knew more about fighting Titans than he did. They survived more skirmishes with Titans than Jean did. It would be arrogant and vain to pretend that he had superior skills just because he managed to emerge unscathed from the missions to recapture Trost and to capture the Female Type. 

"I don't have one," Jean said bluntly. 

"What?! After all that shit you said, you don't even have an idea of what to do?" The woman scowled. "Why the hell did you get in my way then? If he dies, it's on your head."

"I know! You- you don't have to tell me that." Jean sucked in a shaky breath. "I might not know where to go from here, but I could see that what you were doing was stupid and I had to stop you." He looked down and frowned, deep in thought. "How about this? I have a full tank of gas and I'm probably better than using my gear than either of you. I'll be decoy while you go and fetch that idiot." 

"You? How can you get their attention better than I can?" The woman looked reluctant to allow a kid to take point and risk his life. 

Jean gave a humourless bark of laughter. "I guess there's something about me makes me smell like an especially tasty morsel for Titans? I don't know. Just trust me when I say that getting their attention won't be an issue."

"Say you get their attention and I get him away. Then what?" 

The woman turned to her squad-mate. The male soldier was doing an admirable job of staying alive so far but it would only take one mistake for the Titans to catch him. It was clear from her body language that she wasn't willing to wait for much longer. Jean only had a minute or two more at best.

"Find the others." Jean glanced down at the woman's gas gauges while she was distracted but the low light made it impossible to see the reading. "You're probably almost out of gas with the way you were flying. That guy too." The look on her face said that his guess was right, so Jean ploughed ahead, thinking out loud. "Meet up with Sa—the girl I was with. Take our horses and follow the Old Road back. The other new recruits should be here by now and there's more backup coming from headquarters." Jean pointed at the three unusually intelligent Aberrant Types. "Everyone needs to know about those guys." 

"What about you?" The woman shifted her weight, prepared to head over to her squad-mate's aid. 

"I'll be right behind you." 

Jean flashed the female soldier a cocky grin that she apparently believed. She nodded her assent and moved closer to where the trio of Aberrant Types were trying to herd the panicked soldier toward a clearing. Jean sighed and fired his own hooks. 

What he couldn't say was that Jean wasn't confident that he'd be able to lose the trio of Aberrant Types. Admitting that would only spark an argument that the male soldier couldn't afford. Jean was pretty sure that all he'd really manage to accomplish would be trading positions of prey and observer with the panicked solider. 

Jean was still sleep-deprived but adrenaline was doing an amazing job of masking the fatigue and even tired, his chances of surviving were marginally greater than the two patrol soldiers. It wasn't vanity but a simple fact that Jean's 3DMG skills were superior to theirs based on everything he had seen so far. And if the unthinkable happened – if something happened to Sasha, then the only chance of finding out what really happened to the ambushed patrol would be lost unless Jean did something. 

The woman wouldn't leave without her teammate so the only option left was for Jean to send them back together. 

He wasn't a hero. Jean didn't want to be a martyr either. The thought of dying for the sake of strangers gave him no pleasure. What he really wanted to do was find Sasha and go back to the safety of headquarters and leave rescuing the patrol in the hands of more experienced soldiers. A soldier running from danger was the mark of a coward and Jean was okay with that; he was and probably always would be afraid of dying. But as scared as he was to face three Titans alone, that fear was nothing compared to thought of bearing the burden of more lives lost because of his decisions. If he ran now, every person that died at the hands of the three Aberrant Types would have died because Jean failed to protect the knowledge held by the surviving patrol members.

Jean was a coward, and that was why he flung himself between the Aberrant Types and the barely conscious soldier. 

The male soldier's gear had jammed. He was helpless – unable to dodge or manoeuvre in any way except to cut his line so he'd fall to his death – and the knowledge of his impending death was clear in the lines of his face. The female soldier was too far away to reach him in time. She screamed for the male soldier to move, to cut the line, to do something. Anything. But her words fell on deaf ears. The male soldier's eyes and ears had already fallen to shut out the sight of the reaching hands and the sound of animalistic glee pouring from the Aberrant Types' faces when a brown blur zipped between them and their resigned prey. 

Jean's blades sliced through the fingers of the closest Aberrant Type and it howled in rage and surprise. 

The Titan reeled back. It held its damaged hands, which already had steam pouring out of the severed digits, high above its head as it screamed. The noise nearly made Jean go deaf. It stumbled. The Titan misstepped and crashed into the second of the unusually intelligent Aberrant Types, the one that had been following at a distance in hopes of catching the soldier unawares, and they went down in a tangle of gigantic and misshapen limbs. The third Titan tore a tree half out of the ground just by shoving it aside in its rush to charge at the young soldier. 

The red-haired woman didn't waste the opportunity. She swooped out of the canopy and grabbed the unresisting soldier around the waist and was soaring back into the trees in a single, smooth motion. The male soldier gave a squawk of surprise and struggled briefly but the pair were already too far away for Jean to hear any of the words exchanged. Jean eyes locked with the red-haired woman's for the space of heartbeat – just long enough for Jean to register the look of pity, the look that said "thank you for sacrificing yourself for us", before they were gone. 

Now it was just him and three intelligent Aberrant Types who were all furious at the loss of their prey. 

All Jean could do now was hope that they would be able to make it back to the others in one piece. He prayed that there were no more Titans hiding in the forest and that the male soldier wouldn't bleed out before he could pass on what he knew to the others. Jean also hoped that the patrol soldiers would tell everyone that he looked really damn cool in his final moments and not at all like he terrified and regretting every bad decision he ever made. 

One of the Titans turned around. Shit.

"Hey! No, I'm over here! This way!" 

Jean screamed, trying to keep the three Aberrant Types' attention as he fired a hook into the back of the Titan's head. It didn't flinch but it did react to the pulling sensation on its scalp as Jean reeled himself toward almost certain death. One gigantic hand reached up to swat at the nuisance. The line gave sudden jolt as Jean found himself pulled down after it. Spotting Jean's plight, one of the two Titans that had fallen scrambled to snatch the young soldier from the air. Jean hit the hook's release switch and retracted the line quickly enough that the hook didn't get caught in either Titan's arms before firing his second hook at the distracted Titan. 

Jean reeled in the moment he felt the hook catch in the monstrous flesh and only just managed to avoid being caught by the second of the Titans. It was a closer call than he wanted to think about. 

Using the momentum from when his first line was pulled, Jean whipped over the top of the Aberrant Type's head and landed with one foot planted on the broad forehead while the heel of his other foot snapped the gigantic-but-still-fragile bones of its nose. Jean automatically absorbed the force of the impact by bending until he was almost kneeling on the Aberrant Type's face, braced one hand on the Titan's brow, and drove a blade deep enough into the massive eye to reach the optic nerve. A sharp twist of his wrist severed the blade along the scored line, leaving a segment of metal embedded too deeply in the eye to it be of use even if the Titan healed around it. 

It roared and slapped a hand over its face but Jean had already leapt clear. He twisted in mid-air as he fell and fired both hooks at a tree at the edge of the clearing that the Aberrant Types were herding the male soldier toward. If memory served, this way would lead away from both Trost and the Scouting Legion Headquarters. If the Aberrant Types lost interest in Jean and turned around then he wanted to give the others as much time as possible to regroup and prepare. 

Fortunately (or unfortunately), Jean discovered that his special talent for being annoying extended even to Titans. 

Feeling that he had bought enough time for the red-haired woman and her injured squad-mate, Jean tried to put enough distance between himself and the Titans that he felt safe turning around to find the others but every time he looked over his shoulder, the three Aberrant Types were there. They showed no signs of losing interest. Whenever Jean stopped to fight back to try to reduce the problems by at least one, he found himself nearly snatched from the air and crushed. None of the trees here were anywhere near sturdy enough to resist an extended assault by a Titan either. Jean had no choice but to keep running.

He started wondering if he would run out of gas and meet a gruesome end before anyone could come to his rescue. The Aberrant Types' behaviour reminded him strongly of cats that played with their prey before devouring them and Jean was beginning to understand why that other soldier had given up and nearly allowed himself to be caught. Being constantly on the run was exhausting. 

The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and Jean was feeling every single one of those hours that he didn't spend asleep. 

His thoughts were growing fuzzy and disoriented as his limbs grew heavier and Jean nearly missed the sound of someone else's 3DMG engine. The high-pitched sound pierced through the growing fog. His sluggish mind finally realized that the sound wasn't coming from him and Jean's head shot up, a surge of hope breathing new life into his exhausted body. 

"Over here!" Jean shouted, silently praying that he wasn't hallucinating. 

A lightly accented male voice called back, "On my way!"

A new arrival nimbly darted through the trees. It moved swiftly and smoothly though the dense forest with a skill that was both graceful and efficient. None of Jean's fellow graduates were anywhere near that good. Nor were any of the older soldiers that they were sometimes allowed to train with. The technique reminded him of Captain Levi, although the stranger's body was far too large and solidly built to ever be mistaken for the grumpy midget's, and that's when Jean realized with a jolt that he was looking at a veteran soldier. 

One of Allen's friends?

Whoever he was, the new arrival wasted no time in coming to Jean's rescue. He took in the situation at a glance and dropped dangerously close to the ground, low enough that Jean could hear him crashing through the undergrowth, before slicing through the Achilles tendons of all three of the Aberrant Types in a single pass. The stranger's blades were steaming with bright red blood and a relieved smile lit up his face as he pulled even with Jean. 

"You look like you could use a break," the stranger said lightly. "Let's stop over there for a minute."

The stranger pointed a blade at what was probably the oldest and largest tree in the forest. It would be able to withstand at least a few blows from the Aberrant Types. Jean nodded his assent. They landed in the tree and Jean immediately slumped over one of the many forks, letting the sturdy branches take his full weight as the fading adrenaline made his limbs turn to mush. His rescuer landed behind him and laughed at the sight but mercifully made no move to make Jean do anything. 

Jean was grateful for the chance to catch his breath. When it no longer felt like the fatigue was going to make him throw up, he pulled himself upright and turned to address his saviour. 

"Thank y—" Jean began to speak but the words died in his mouth. 

The man that saved him was indeed a veteran Scouting Legion soldier. Even if there were pieces of uniform missing, there was no mistaking the confidence with which he bore his scars. The whole right side of the man's face and neck were covered in horrific scarring that, from this close distance, made it look like his jaw and cheekbones were pulverized beyond the help of any doctor or surgeon. Surprisingly, both of the guy's eyes were left fully intact and there was something about the shape of the guy's green eyes that looked familiar. No, Jean thought to himself, it wasn't just the guy's eyes. There was also something familiar about the line of the guy's jaw and the broadness of his shoulders and even the confused little half-smile on his lips. 

Jean's eyes fell on the goggles hanging around the guy's neck. The lenses were tinted and the frame had a hideous pattern that was visible even in the fading light. Jean's eyes travelled back up to the guy's face focused on the tan-lines surrounding his eyes. 

"Antonio Bodt?" 

The guy blinked. 

"Do I know you?" He asked, but the confusion on Antonio's face cleared away in seconds. "Oh, I remember. The grumpy kid I saw in training yard that swapped squads with that tiny scared-looking blond girl, right?" 

"Uh, yeah, that was me." 

Jean wondered why Antonio didn't mention their argument in the Veterans' secret lounge but decided that maybe the fight didn't make as big of an impression on the man that it did on Jean. Antonio was probably used to dealing with mouthy kids and didn't think anything of it. It would fit with what he knew about Marco's tendency to gloss over some of Jean's more obvious faults and Allan did imply that two Bodts had a lot in common. 

"I'm not going to ask how you know my name since I'm sure the answer is 'my reputation precedes me' or something equally embarrassing." Antonio laughed and tugged on the strap of his goggles. "And in case you haven't already heard: the outfit is NOT my idea and, trust me, I'm working on getting rid of it as fast as I can." 

"I heard." 

Marco's cousin cocked his head to one side in a way that made Jean reflexively cringe away. Damn it. It looked like Marco's uncanny perceptiveness was a Bodt thing and not just a Marco thing. Was it so unreasonable to expect them to leave Jean and his issues alone? Marco would've been nice enough to play dumb in a situation like this but his cousin was a complete unknown. 

"What's your name?" Antonio asked in tone that suggested he already knew the answer. 

"Jean Kirstein." 

There was no surprise on Antonio Bodt's face, only a nod of acknowledgement. "Marco's friend," he said. 

Jean stared down at his hands. "Yeah," he said softly. "That's me. I'm so sorry. If it wasn't for m—" 

"The one he couldn’t stop worrying about," Antonio interrupted. "And asking me for advice about."

Jean slowly looked up at Antonio, surprised at the note of annoyance that crept into the older man's voice, and dread that had nothing to do with talking to Marco's relatives crept up Jean's spine. He had a bad feeling that he knew where this conversation was headed. Jean was already beginning to turn pink from mortification when the older Bodt crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. 

"He didn't start getting so… chatty until after he moved out here." Antonio demanded in a flat voice, "What did you do to him?"

Jean yelped, "Nothing! I didn't do anything to Marco that he didn't let me! I don't know what he told you about me but whatever he said is not the whole truth, I swear."

"The way he talked made it seem like you were his only friend but I know that's not how things really were." A sly smile crept onto Antonio's face. "Care to explain yourself?"

Jean buried his burning hot face in his hands and muttered "fuck you and your 'I like it when you blush', Marco. I will get you for this" under his breath, but he didn't speak quietly enough for the comments to go unnoticed. Antonio arched his eyebrows and burst into peals of bright laughter when Jean glared, a sour and petulant expression on his face. 

"I don't see what's so funny," Jean grumbled. 

The older Bodt wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and said, "I'm sorry. Don't worry about it." 

"How can I not?!" 

"Look at it like this," Antonio said cheerfully. "Now I understand why Marco got so attached so quickly. That means I've decided against turning you inside-out and stringing you up by your intestines for some of the things you did to my favourite cousin." His eyes narrowed slightly. "At least, not until I hear your side of the story."

Jean paled at the utter seriousness in Antonio Bodt's smile and was grateful for the interruption caused by the arrival of the Aberrant Types. Never before in his life had Jean been so happy to see Titans. There was a strange coldness to Antonio's smile, a viciousness that was almost completely hidden by the sunny expression until that moment that made Jean shrink away in fear. Marco's cousin was scary. Jean wasted no time in pointing out the Aberrant Types the moment he caught sight of them. 

"Oh, that's right. We still have these guys to deal with." Antonio acted as if he had genuinely forgotten what was going on. He glanced at Jean. "Do you have enough gas to make it back to the others? They're at the entrance to the forest, on the Old Road."

Jean checked his gauges and frowned. "No, probably not." 

"That's going to be trouble. I don't have enough to spare some for you." Antonio drummed his fingers on the metal canisters and frowned suddenly. "I wonder…"

"Yeah?" 

"It might be gone already, but there used to be a stockpile of supplies somewhere in this forest." Antonio said hesitantly, "One of the old Garrison captains struck a deal with Commander Shadis back in the day. They'd give us their extra gas and blades in exchange for the Scouting Legion taking over some of the more dangerous patrols on the walls. And by 'give' I mean Garrison stashed the crates somewhere out here for us to look for later." 

"And you think that some of that stuff is still out here?" Jean asked skeptically. 

Antonio nodded. "Erwin was never in the loop about the deal. I wouldn't be surprised if some of that stuff is still out here, waiting to be picked up. The problem is that I have no idea where the drop-off point was."

Jean's eyes widened as a fragment of a remembered a scene from his childhood played in his mind's eye. The bright sunlight was streaming through the leaves and he crouched to study the dappled shadows on the ground as they danced in the breeze. His mother seized the collar of his shirt and hauled him to his feet and pressed him to her side. She squeezed his hand and hushed him, pleading for Jean to not make a fuss and stay quiet as his father guided them away from a group of shifty soldiers crashing through the underbrush. His parents' fear was contagious and Jean's childhood self was too scared to ask why they were going home so soon. It didn't take long for the Kirsteins to notice the increased presence of anxious-looking soldiers on the Old Road and concerns about what the soldiers could be up to brought an abrupt end to their weekend nature hikes. 

Jean never dared to venture back in the woods again, until today. 

"I know where it is," Jean said. "There's an old hunter's cabin out here that's hell to find even when you already know where it is. If the supplies are anywhere in these woods, I'll bet that it's there."

"Great." Antonio readied his blades and turned to face the approaching Aberrant Types. "If there are still supplies there, replenish your gear and go find the others. Most of us wasted about half of our gas getting out here as fast as we could." 

Jean nodded. "If I'm wrong, I'll go back on foot and let them know to send backup here." 

"Good. Now get going." Antonio paused. "Oh, one more thing. I promised to keep an eye on you for Marco so be careful out there, or else."

"Wait, what?" 

"Good luck!" Antonio gave Jean a lop-sided grin as he stepped into the open air and was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly 9000 words later, I still haven't managed to cover everything I planned for this chapter. I even skipped some scenes and I still didn't reach the end of the outline! Oh well, I did manage to introduce Antonio so I guess that's good enough for now...


	7. Chapter 7

Jean wasn't sure how long he wandered around before he dropped his head into his hands and admitted that he was completely lost. 

He was an idiot. Why did he say that he knew where the hunter's cabin was? The last time he laid eyes upon it was when he was a kid. Jean doubted he'd be able to find it during the day, let alone at night when there were still Titans wandering around. Why didn't he think things through before opening his mouth? And for that matter, why did Antonio have to go and believe Jean's lies? If he heard even a fraction of Marco's incriminating stories then Antonio should've known better than to believe anything Jean said. Was he trying to be nice and give the benefit of the doubt to the friend of his favourite cousin? If that was the reason, then he shouldn't have. Really. Antonio really should have known better.

But it was too late for Jean to back out now. 

Not only was the man Marco's relative and Allan's good friend, but Antonio was one of the few veteran soldiers who were still active and contributing members of the Scouting Legion. It didn't matter much potential that Jean and his fellow graduates possessed or how much skill they displayed, it was a fact that was that their talents were still underdeveloped and it would take time before they stopped being liabilities. In other words, Antonio Bodt and those like him were an increasingly rare and valuable resource that humanity's military could not afford to lose. Jean had a responsibility to do everything humanly possible to keep him alive. 

And getting lost was not the way to do it. 

Jean wished that he could head straight for the hunter's cabin was but all he had to work with were fragmented decades-old memories. It wasn't a joke when he said the place was difficult to find under ideal circumstances because every location he checked turned out to be wrong and now he was left with no other choice but to follow the Old Road on foot and hope that he spotted something familiar. 

Wasting his finite reserves of gas and energy by rushing around blindly would help exactly no one. Jean knew that, but taking the time to search properly wasn't the best solution either. It didn't feel right to be walking around leisurely when others were out there fighting for their lives.

A lot of things didn't feel right. 

For one, the forest was a lot quieter than it had any right to be. What happened to all of the nocturnal animals? It seemed as if the presence of Titans and the ensuing battles had driven all life into hiding, leaving behind an almost complete silence. The silence was only broken up by the sound of Jean's breathing and the rustling of leaves as he pushed through the plants that were reclaiming the Old Road. Even the sounds of battle had faded away to nothing. And as if the silence wasn't bad enough, the sun had set shortly after he left Antonio Bodt behind and now there was nothing to light the way beyond the dim pinpricks of starlight that managed to make it through the forest canopy. The low visibility and the poor condition of the road forced Jean to move at an even slower pace to avoid unnecessarily injuring himself. 

Jean rubbed his arms to ward off a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Damn it. Come on, where are you hiding?" 

Jean spoke more for the sake of filling the silence than anything and he was just superstitious enough to be grateful that nothing replied. The stillness was deeply unsettling. 

And with nothing but his own thoughts to keep him company, Jean began to wonder if he had imagined the existence of the cabin. He was pretty young at the time. The hunter's cabin could be nothing more than a figment of his childhood self's imagination. If it was, what was he going to do if it turned out that his memory wasn't reliable? Apologize? Like that would be enough. Maybe he should try looking for a different overlooked stash of supplies? If there even was another stash. But if Jean turned back now, he might be able to help Antonio fend off the Aberrant Types. He wouldn't have enough gas to get back to the others quickly but if the threat was eliminated then there'd be no harm in taking his time. 

Yeah, he thought, that was probably the best course of action. It was better than continuing to be a burden by wandering around aimlessly. 

Jean turned around, intending to retrace his steps until he found Marco's cousin, when something sitting in the overgrown grasses caught his eye. He paused. Was that an animal? No, it was too reflective to be an animal. A discarded blade fragment? Broken gear? Jean knelt and brushed the grass aside to reveal an oddly shaped stone flecked with bits of mineral that easily caught the light. 

His mouth fell open with shock. 

"Oh," Jean said faintly, "I remember this. I thought this was a shiny bunny." 

Jean remembered being ridiculously disappointed that what he found wasn't a rabbit with glittering fur, but a rock. His younger self got over it quickly, however, when he became mesmerized by the play of shadows and sunlight over the odd stone. Thankfully, his parents quickly noticed that their son was no longer beside them and turned back. It was then that his mom and dad noticed the suspicious-looking soldiers crashing around in the bushes. 

Jean stood and studied his surroundings with new eyes.

"If this is the same rock, then the soldiers were messing around over there—" Jean stepped off the trail, following the route in his memories, and paused. "—so the cabin and the drop-off point must be someone nearby." He turned around slowly. "Now where was it that Dad said I should never go near on my own…?"

Jean slowly picked his way through the bushes as he tried to recreate the route that the soldiers had taken all those many years ago. Luckily, the Kirsteins were not the only family to spot the strangers in the woods. Mr. Wagner had also seen the soldiers and he even repeated a few stories about his encounters with them to Jean's father, attempting to convince Jean's father to also lodge a complaint about them with the local branch of the Military Police. 

He didn't know what his father ultimately chose to do but, more importantly, Jean could still remember a certain details about Mr. Wagner's stories… like where he had run into the soldiers. 

Jean could also remember his father taking him aside one day, after he finally convinced Mr. Wagner to give up and go away, that under absolutely no circumstances was Jean to go anywhere near a specific place in the woods. Never. His younger self thought it was a completely random and unreasonable order but his older self could now see how the incidents were connected. 

"Aha, I knew it had to be somewhere around here!" Jean said triumphantly. 

The cabin was wedged between a short cliff and a gigantic old-growth tree that had fallen over decades ago. The "cliff" was actually only a couple storeys high but the rock was a sheer 90 degree drop so it counted as a cliff in Jean's books. Beside the cliff, the tree had fallen in such a way that it pulled up a sizable half-moon of soil and roots that almost completely concealed the building from view. It wasn't until you already left the road and was half-way there before you could make out any signs of a man-made structure. 

However, Jean caught sight of a faded ribbon caught on a low hanging branch as he neared the abandoned hunter's cabin. He turned around and saw that the Old Road was just barely visible through all the trees and bushes. Years ago, one of the soldiers must have put it there to make it easier to find the cabin after getting lost one too many times. It was a shame that it was so hard to see now. It would've made things easier if it was, but Jean gave a mental shrug and decided that it didn't really matter. He could find it again easily, now that he knew where to look.

Overwhelming relief at not having to go back empty-handed made Jean feel lightheaded and dizzy as he got closer to the hunter's cabin. 

Wait, he thought fuzzily, that feeling wasn't caused by relief. 

Jean was exhausted before they received the new orders and his condition was certainly not improved by forgetting to eat because he was too busy drowning in memories and regrets. The battle had finally pushed his body to the breaking point and it wanted nothing more than to shut down for a few hours. Jean told himself that he only had to last long enough to confirm the contents of the cabin and head back to the others. 

He begged his body to hold out for just a little longer and pushed onward.

The cabin crouched in the shadows like something out a nightmare. It was never the prettiest thing to look at in the first place and being half reclaimed by nature did nothing to improve its appearance. Jean shivered and his steps slowed. 

Something with far too many legs skittered away into the overhanging eaves as he approached the broken door. The space above the door rustled. Jean gingerly eased the door open with his foot. Waited. He stepped inside with his eyes fixed on the shadows moving on the ceiling and walls and absently noted the presence of wooden boxes in his peripheral vision. 

Once he was convinced the crawly things on the ceiling were going to stay up there, Jean slowly shifted his attention to the wooden crates. At first glance, the boxes looked a lot like the ones that were the industry-standard kind that were found everywhere but there was something about them that seemed different. He didn't know how he could tell, but these boxes weren't used by common merchants. Jean peered at the side of the nearest crate and saw the remnants of a shipping label. Most of the text was faded or the label itself torn away, but Jean was able to decipher enough characters to make out the stupidly complex product code for replacement blades. 

There was no doubt now; the crates stacked in the hunter's cabin were from the military. 

A quick examination revealed that the crates nearest to the door lacked any sort of identifier that would mark the recipient as Garrison's Trost division but Jean was certain that he would be able to find proof if he looked hard enough. There was no reason for Antonio to lie about this, after all. A quick glance around revealed that there was no room inside the cabin to install a large reservoir tank for gas, like the ones found in the district towns. Even if there was enough space, Jean doubted that one would have been put in place because transporting the components would have attracted far too much attention. Garrison probably smuggled the gas out by refilling the small portable tanks used with the soldiers' gear and packing them in the same crates used to transport replacement blades. 

Now to find which box had the gas tanks. 

Jean busied himself with trying to pry open a crate by wedging the broken stub of his blade in the gap between the lid and the box. There would be time to do a thorough investigation later. Right now, he had to resupply and head to tell the others. 

He was so focused on his task that he mentally blocked out every other sound so, at first, the creaking wood registered only in his mind as the noise of the old crate, complaining about being forced open. He didn't notice the origin of the sound at all. Jean grunted slightly in exertion. He wondered why it sounded like the wood was giving way when it felt like it wasn't budging at all. Jean didn't figure out the problem until he paused to let his arms rest and heard the squeak of wood when he wasn't moving. 

Jean's senses went on high alert. His heart hammered in his chest as his ears picked up the faint scuff of feet in the next room. There was something else in the cabin. 

Captain Levi's thieves? 

Slowly, Jean turned his head toward the source of the sound and stared at the open doorway. Nothing happened. He was just beginning to think that it was just his imagination or maybe a wild animal that had made the abandoned hunter's cabin its home, when he heard it: conversation. The voices were little more than a low rumble but the words rose and fell in a cadence that was completely unfamiliar to his ears. There were too many differences in the rhythm of the words to be explained away by dialect. Another language? It was too muffled to tell.

Jean took a single step toward the other room, intent on satisfying his curiosity and nothing more, and put his foot down on a slightly rotten bit of floor. He winced. The conversation cut off abruptly. Jean froze in place and held his breath. He prayed that whoever it was in the other room would write off the noise as the house settling.

However, as always, luck was not on his side. 

There was a dead silence for the space of maybe thirty seconds before Jean picked up the sound of several sets of feet. Two sets were heading away from him (did the cabin had another door, he wondered) while one was moving toward him. 

Jean's mind went into overdrive. It calculated the distance between him, the front door, and the person in the other room in a single glance and nixed the plan before it could fully form. On a good day, Jean would have been able to reach the door before the other person could catch up with him but today was not one of those days. Running was out of the question. Jean turned to the stacked cases of gas and replacement blades scattered around the main room of the cabin, and grimaced. They would make a terrible hiding place but a bad hiding place was better than no hiding place. Jean ducked down behind a stack that would sever the line-of-sight with the doorway and waited.

The light footfalls of a single person entered the room. Jean didn't dare to look. 

The inside of the cabin was almost pitch black so there was no chance of getting lucky enough to see light reflecting off a blade. Instead, Jean strained his ears for any sort of sound that would give away what sort of weapon the other person was carrying but the only thing he could hear was the rustle of fabric. The person was moving slowly enough to be almost soundless. 

Unluckily for them, the person they were trying to sneak up on was Jean Kirstein and he had more than enough experience dealing with sneaky bastards trying to take him by surprise. Of course, back then, the stakes were much lower. The only real danger to failing to escape was getting pranked (if the culprit was Sasha and Connie), or laughter followed by an apologetic but condescending hair-ruffle (if it was Marco). 

It was true that his life was in danger, but Jean knew that the general idea was the same. He knew that it would be fine if he could stay calm and follow his usual strategy. So when the stranger moved to check behind the crates stacked along on the opposite wall, Jean began moving toward a location closer to the cabin's other room. He tried his best to match the pace of the other person's footsteps but the muscles in Jean's legs ached and his back complained at the awkward position he found himself waiting in. Jean was woefully out of practice. 

They circled each other's positions at a pace that was both slow and agonizingly stressful. 

Jean had no doubt now that the stranger knew he was there but, for whatever reason, the thief was taking their sweet time trying to flush Jean out. The patience and thoroughness of the stranger was impressive and under different circumstances, Jean would have been tempted to see who could last longer. Unfortunately, he had no time to indulge in such things. Impatience gnawed at Jean's insides and his shoulders bowed under the weight of the lives of Antonio Bodt and Sasha Blouse and everyone else that rushed out to rescue the patrol. People could be dying out there because Jean was taking too long to get back with what he knew. 

He couldn't wait any longer; something had to be done. 

This time, when the stranger moved closer to Jean's position, he didn't move away to a better location. Jean waited until he could hear the stranger's carefully measured and almost soundless breaths before exploding out from behind his cover. The person hesitated for a split-second, limbs paralyzed with surprise, which allowed Jean to make the first move. He surged to his feet with the heel of his hand aimed at the stranger's throat in a strike meant to hurt like hell but not kill. 

The stranger slapped down Jean's hand in a counter that was so fast it had to be an automatic response. 

Jean shook the numbness out his hand and retreated to the center of the room, contemplating his next move now that the element of surprise was lost. He narrowed his eyes. The counter used was familiar and that meant one thing: military training. That made things a little more complex. 

The stranger wasted no time in launching a counterattack. 

Unlike Jean, the stranger was dressed entirely in dark colours that blended in extremely well with the dark cabin interior. The thief had even had covered most of their face with a dark fabric, making it even more difficult to see him in the dark room. Jean quickly found himself stuck on the defensive and relying almost entirely on instinct and muscle memory to avoid the blows. 

A hand grabbed hold of the Jean's jacket and yanked hard enough to pull him off balance. 

If the stranger was indeed trained by the military, then he knew what move was coming next. Jean dodged the low kick and, in a move he picked up from fighting Eren (who had picked it up from Annie), twisted to use the stranger's momentum against them and threw them to the ground. The stranger gave a grunt of surprise but rolled to their feet almost immediately. Jean retreated a step and watched warily for the stranger's next move. 

The part of his mind that wasn't wholly focused on staying alive made note of a few details: the stranger was taller than him and the torso that Jean drove his shoulder into definitely belonged to a male. The stranger's arm was also alarmingly muscled and that meant that any of the blows that connected would cause a lot of damage. This was not a fight that Jean could win in his present condition. His best choice would be to retreat. 

And besides, the cowardly part of Jean's mind reasoned, he not only located the hunter's cabin and confirmed there really were supplies here, but he even managed uncovered new information related to the grumpy midget's inane mission. It was a good day's work. Really, there was no reason to keep risking his life like this.

So he wasn't going to.

Jean feinted a strike and when the guy obligingly dodged out of the way, Jean darted past and was out the door in a flash. The thief was slow to react. Jean struggled to push through the bushes for perhaps a hundred meters before remembering that he had walked most of the way there, so there was still a lot of gas remaining in his tanks. Jean retreated into the canopy and breathed out a sigh of relief. The stranger wouldn't be able to follow Jean due to a distinct lack of 3DMG getting in the way during the confrontation. 

So when the cabin door slammed open, Jean felt confident enough to give into his curiosity. He rolled over and peered down to get a better look at the stranger and perhaps gloat from the safety of the tree… when he saw it. Jean felt his heart sink. 

Why the hell did Garrison put a functioning set of 3DMG in with the gas and blades bribe?! Why? What was wrong with them? And for that matter, how the hell did that guy put on the harness so quickly? Magic? 

The thief stepped off the collapsing porch. He looked around slowly before moving toward the trail that Jean left in his mad dash for the Old Road, only to halt after a travelling no more than a dozen paces. Jean frowned. He wondered why the guy wasn't taking the bait and leaned forward just as the guy tilted his head back to look straight up. 

Shit. 

The two froze with identical wide-eyed expressions of disbelief on their faces. Jean cursed himself out for being a careless fool but a second look down revealed that the other guy appeared to be at a complete loss. The thief certainly didn't expect his search for Jean to be quite this easy. So now what? Another fight? Oh please no. Jean was in no hurry to begin round two of their battle and it seemed like the thief wasn't either, if the way he was just standing there was any indication. 

Jean wondered who was going to crack first. One of them should make the suggestion that maybe they should just walk away and pretend they didn't see anything. Or something. But a few moments later, Jean heard his voice say "Uh, hey…" so, apparently, the one to crack first was going to be him. 

The stranger startled slightly before staring at Jean with a slight tilt to his head that seemed to be asking "what do you want" or maybe "why are you still here". 

And Jean didn't have a good answer for either question. He wasn't even sure why he was trying to talk to the thief when he should be getting back to the others and now that he had the guy's attention, Jean's mind was a complete blank. 

So he did the first thing that popped into his head. 

Jean gave the guy a sheepish grin and waved and said "Um, there are a bunch of Aberrant Titans nearby so could you maybe hold off on stealing our stuff until after we've dealt with them? That'd be great."

And while he couldn't see much of the guy's face with the dark coloured scarf in the way, it was clear from how the thief's shoulders started shaking that Jean was being laughed at. Anger boiled up before Jean knew what was happening and he found himself shouting "Fuck you, asshole! I'm trying to save your life! I've had more than enough of people dying on my watch!" even though he was pretty sure it was a bad idea for reasons he couldn't remember. 

He found out why a few moments later. 

He didn't even have a chance to see the thief's reaction to being yelled at. Jean angrily turned his face away and found himself looking straight at a gigantic face peering over the small cliff. Jean choked. 

It wasn't one of the Titans he faced earlier; there was a fourth Aberrant. 

There was barely any light filtering through the canopy but there was enough for Jean to see that the thief's 3D Movement Gear was rusting and poorly maintained. It wasn't fit for use. Jean lurched forward and screamed down at the thief. 

"Get out of there!" 

The thief jumped at the sound of Jean's voice, startled out of whatever stupor he fell into, but he didn't run. Instead, the thief turned toward the old cabin. One of the thief's companions came barrelling around the side and they barked out something in that strange musical-sounding language. The thief's head jerked and his hands came up in the universal sign for silence, followed by a finger pointed right at Jean's position. The new arrival was agitated and looked ready to argue. 

"What the fuck are you morons doing?! Run!" 

When neither reacted, Jean realized with a jolt that the thieves wouldn't be able to see the quiet and watchful Aberrant Titan from their position. They probably couldn't even understand a word Jean was saying. He had to do something or they would be killed and Jean really didn't want to add to his already long list of failures. 

Jean looked at his gauges and cursed. Not enough left. He didn't know which crates contained filled gas tanks, not that he could afford to spend the time looking, so that ruled out resupplying first. He would have find a way with what little he had left. Jean swapped out his blades and raced along the wobbly branch, picking up some speed before leaping and firing his hooks at a tree at the top of the small cliff. 

The sound of metal clattering to the ground and the high-pitched whine of the 3DMG turbine finally caught the attention of the two thieves. Jean heard one of them say something before they went crashing into the bushes. Finally. 

Jean shifted his focus to the Titan.

The fourth of the Aberrant Types was crouched on the hill on its hands and knees. There were deep depressions in the soft soil behind it, drag marks too, so the thing must have been crawling toward the cabin. It was another sign of unusual intelligence, like the others, and this really did not bode well. Were all the Titans getting smarter or was there something else going on? Were there Shifters out there with bodies that looked like regular Titans? Humanity's sample size for Shifters was extremely small, after all, so it was possible. 

Jean shoved his fears into the back of his mind as he landed next to the gigantic head. He had no plan. He was banking on his strange ability to attract the attention of Titans to distract it from going after the larger group of humans. It worked. One humungous eye shifted away from where the thieves vanished and the fourth Aberrant Type rose up on one arm to swipe at the small human next to it. 

Jean dropped to the ground to avoid the hand, rolled to his feet, and began running. He didn't have to wait long before the Titan began to give chase. 

"Those bastards better appreciate this," he swore bitterly.

Jean ran until his lungs began to hurt and his legs burned. He didn't dare take to the trees out of fear that his gas would run out and leave him stranded and helpless. Instead, he restricted his gear usage to clearing obstacles that would've forced him to find an alternate route. 

Where the hell were the others? The forest should be crawling with Scouting Legion members by now. Did something happen? Or did they abandon him for dead? Fear and doubt began bubbling up again. It gnawed at his insides, distracting him, and Jean's foot landed in a depression in the ground that he should have been able to avoid easily. 

His leg buckled. 

Jean went down hard and only managed to avoid landing on his blades through sheer luck. He could feel the vibrations of the fourth Aberrant Type's unhurried footsteps through the ground. It couldn't be very far away. Jean groaned and tried to push himself upright only to find that his body was refusing to listen. Dread squeezed his chest. 

"No. No, not now." Jean whispered desperately. "Don't you give out on me now!" 

No matter how many times he tried, or how hard to willed it, nothing happened. His body refused to respond. He had finally pushed it too far. 

Jean dropped his forehead to the damp soil and gave a broken, helpless laugh. 

What a time for his body to decide to collect on all those lost hours of sleep. But he supposed that as far as deaths went, this wasn't the worst possible way to go out. At least he knew that some lives were extended thanks to his actions, even if they were thieves, and that was better than nothing. It was a shame that nobody would know how he met his end. 

Jean was busy composing a mental will and making his peace with his impending death when something closed around the sluggishly bleeding cuts on his arm. The blood-soaked fabric was roughly yanked away from where it had glued itself to the open wound. Pain shot through his system. It revived him faster than any drug could. Jean reflexively snapped something rude, he wasn't quite sure what, and turned his head to fix the culprit with his most furious glare. 

It was the guy from the cabin.

Jean blinked, anger melting away in favour of pure confusion. 

The thief held up Jean's arm –now bandaged with a length of dark fabric that must've come the scarf covering up his face– and pointed a finger at it. Then he turned the arm so the rocks embedded in the palm of Jean's hand were visible, and pointed at the new injury. Then the thief jabbed an accusatory finger at Jean's face (probably at the signs of chronic insomnia), and Jean's leg (cut when he tripped over something sharp during the fight back in the cabin), and at Jean's ankle (twisted when he fell). 

The thief crossed his arms and glared, furious. Jean wanted to shrivel up in embarrassment. 

Getting rescued by the enemy was bad enough without adding a silent, disapproving lecture on top. Jean opened his mouth to make some sort of comment, a scathing remark or a lame excuse he hadn't decided which yet, when the stranger's hand clamped over his mouth. Eww, the taste of dirt and blood. The thief's eyes were wide with alarm. He made a shushing motion with his free hand and turned to look back the way Jean came from with an overly exaggeration motion. 

Oh. The Titan. 

The thief held up his hands, pointed at himself and then back the way they came, then swung his arms in a downward motion, and then finally pressed a finger to his lips. 

He instantly understood what the thief was intending to do. He wanted Jean to stay put while he went back to deal with the Titan himself. Jean shook his head angrily. Like hell he was going to let someone woefully unprepared get into a fight with an Aberrant Type on his own! Glaring and ignoring the worried fluttering of the thief's hands that clearly said "stop that!", Jean tried to stand only to have his injured leg buckle the moment he tried to put weight on it. 

The thief's hands fell to his sides with a slap and he rolled his eyes. 

An exasperated noise managed to escape his throat. It was the first vocalization the thief made and it wasn't much, but it was enough to make Jean stare in disbelief. An improbable connection sparked in his mind. The fighting style. The mannerisms. The voice. The overbearing nosiness. Jean knew them. There was no way he couldn't know them.

"You—" was all Jean managed to say before the other man reacted. 

The guy stiffened and leapt to his feet, prepared to bolt, only to stop at the last moment. He turned around and repeated the "stay here" motion with his hands, glaring for emphasis, before he took off running back the way they came. The sound of a poorly maintained 3DMG engine pierced the silence of the night with an unholy screech that was quickly drowned out by the roar of a Titan. The rumbling footsteps retreated into the distance. Away from Trost and the Scouting Legion's headquarters.

Jean was still staring blankly, doubting his ears and his intuition and wondering if he was losing his mind, when the others finally managed to locate him. Sasha tried to get his attention, tried to ask what happened after they separated, but Jean's attention kept drifting away. It wasn't until Antonio grabbed his shoulder and barked "Jean!" that he managed to rouse himself long enough to respond. 

"I'm fine. Nothing happened." Jean mumbled, "I was seeing things."

Antonio scowled. 

"We're going back to HQ," Antonio said to Sasha. To Jean, he said "and I'm not going to let you out of my sight until I get some answers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, I wonder who that could be? Haha. :P 
> 
> The chapter's a little on the short side but I figured I should hurry up and give Jean a small break. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I need to write a chapter of Counterbalance to stop myself from derailing this story into inane fluff.


	8. Chapter 8

"Put me down, you asshole!" 

"No way." Antonio said flatly. "You'll try to run away on that busted leg of yours the moment I put you down, so forget it."

Jean tried to escape the indignity of being slung over Antonio Bodt's shoulders like a sack of potatoes but nothing he did had an effect. The most that Antonio did was stop to adjust his grip on the younger boy before continuing to march resolutely toward the Scouting Legion's Headquarters. He tried punching the guy but even that didn't do anything. Jean probably more damage to himself since Marco's overbearing cousin was like a solid wall of muscle. 

He hissed in pain and tried to rub his sore hand, only for it to be caught by Antonio. 

Antonio's green eyes lingered on the sloppy, make-shift bandage for a second before sliding away to meet the younger boy's narrowed eyes. Antonio intoned "stop that" in the kind of dangerously calm tone that set off a cacophony of mental alarms but Jean only frowned. He was far too stubborn to give up so quickly. 

"My leg is fine," Jean said grumpily. "It's just a scrape that looks worse than it really is."

Marco's cousin replied immediately with a pointed, "And that ankle?" 

"I stumbled and twisted it, that's all! I can walk it off. Now if you'd just put me down for one minute, I'd…" 

"Right," Antonio said dryly. "That's why you were sitting there like a lump when we found you." 

"Hey! That's not why—" Jean cut himself off. 

Was it a good idea to tell Antonio what he thought he saw? Jean didn't have any proof that his intuition was on the mark and the only person who could confirm or deny his hunch was the same guy that Jean was beginning to convince himself was a figment of his imagination. If the thief really was who he thought it was, then where had he been hiding all this time? What was he trying to do? And more importantly, how did he manage to survive an injury like that? There was no way that he could've. Jean had concrete proof that he should be dead – you can't get any more concrete than a body with half the torso missing and severed organs that spilled out over his hands as he—

Jean jerked his thoughts away from That Day. Stop over-thinking it. Jean reminded himself that the details didn't matter. What really mattered was that no way a human could survive something like that. He doubted that even someone like Eren and Annie could either because, titan or human or something in between, injuries to the spine and brain were no laughing matter. The thief couldn't be him. It wasn't him. It wasn't. 

"'That was' …what?" Antonio prompted. 

"Nothing. Forget it. I'm not going to argue with you." Jean fell silent with an annoyed huff. 

"Huh. You're being awfully cooperative all of a sudden."

There was a hint of suspicion in his voice, like Antonio thought the silence meant that Jean was up to no good. Jean would have been offended by the automatic assumption that he was a troublemaker but, well, this was Marco's cousin. The guy was close enough to Marco that he was willing to throw away a career in Garrison for a one-way ticket to the Scouting Legion (the recruit situation was dire enough now that Commander Smith made it ridiculously difficult to leave once you were in). That was a huge sacrifice to make just so Marco would have someone familiar nearby in case he got homesick. There was no doubt that Antonio heard enough stories to have formed an extremely uncharitable mental image of Jean.

"I'm mourning the loss of my dignity," Jean said. 

It wasn't the whole truth but he hoped it would be enough to satisfy Antonio's need to pry. A muscle in Antonio's jaw jumped as his teeth clenched and Jean knew that the older man had heard what Jean wasn't saying. Damn those overly perceptive Bodts. He knew Jean was lying by omission and, for a second, he was absolutely furious. Jean suddenly remembered their other conversation. He wondered if Antonio had seriously considered the merits of eviscerating him despite knowing that Marco was quite fond of Jean and wanted his friend to remain among the living. But, mostly, he wondered if "don't mutilate your favourite cousin's best friend" was one of those lines that could never be crossed. 

The tension remained in Antonio's body, humming like a string wound too tight, but the initial hot flash of temper faded into dull embers that were blown out by a gusty sigh. 

"You're not the first new recruit to be carried off the field like this," Antonio said with enough apology in his voice to make Jean brave enough to snipe back without fear.

"It's one thing to be carried because I'm unconscious or bleeding out or something, but I'm not. I sprained my ankle and you're acting like I got it bitten off." 

"You have a habit of downplaying your injuries… or so I'm told," Antonio said.

"Oh yeah?!" Jean shot back, unsure if he was more upset at the thought that Marco discussed his faults with everyone or that enough stories were told for Antonio to reach that conclusion on his own. "Well… well he has a habit of overreacting! Seriously, are all Bodts fussy mother hens? Because I can take care of myself!"

"I believe you." Antonio was quick to assure him. "To a certain extent, anyway."

"You… do?" Jean said, shocked and a little wary. 

"I do. I saw how you handled yourself out there and that was pretty damn good for Fresh Meat," Antonio turned his head so Jean could see his grin. "But what I think and what YOU think doesn't matter in this case. Can you guess why?"

Jean groaned "damn that freckled nuisance" while covering his face with his hands. That was it. Forget looking for ways to ruin his good name, Jean was going to throttle Marco the next time he saw him. If he could survive being bitten in half then he could take a little strangling. 

"Got it in one," Antonio said. "He made me swear to look after you if something ever happened that would make it impossible for him to do it himself. I wanted to refuse but you know how he gets."

"Yeah," Jean said wearily.

Antonio hummed and fell silent, assuming that the conversation was over. Night had fallen fully and there was barely any light making its way through the forest canopy. Occasionally, Jean would see orangey pinpricks of light flickering in the distance but they always disappeared off into the bushes rather than head toward the two of them. It had to be the other members of the Scouting Legion searching the woods for stray Titans but it was a bit strange that nobody was checking the Old Road.

On the other hand, seeing that Antonio was maintaining a brisk pace and showing no signs of fatigue whatsoever, Jean wondered if the lack of people was because one veteran soldier was the equivalent of an entire squad. He only caught a glimpse of Antonio's abilities but what he saw was impressive. Was that what all of the veterans were like? Allan and Antonio and the card players and all the others who weren't part of that secret club? If they were, then that would go a long way toward explaining why veteran soldiers were such a rare sight around headquarters. They were probably run ragged covering the gaps left by the horrific personnel turnover rate in recent years. 

"You can go to sleep if you want," Antonio said. 

Sleep sounded like an absolutely wonderful idea, but… 

"I have to report what I saw to the others," Jean said reluctantly. "Captain Levi will skin me alive if I don't." 

"No, he won't." There was a note of firm confidence, bordering on arrogance, in Antonio's words that made Jean want to believe him. "Trust me, nothing will happen to you on our watch." 

Jean opened his mouth to comment on their chances of holding off someone of Captain Levi's caliber but what came out instead was a confused "What do you mean by 'our' watch?"

Antonio's steps faltered and he turned to fix Jean with a flat stare, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "…Kid," he said slowly, "You do know that I'm not the only one trying to keep you out of trouble, right?"

"Huh? Wait, you mean…" Jean frowned. "So Marco met Allan and all of them? But when did—oh, yeah. Marco is really likable, huh? It's not hard to imagine that they'd be willing to do him a favour, especially with you around to vouch for him, but still! Why me?" Jean's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's so special about me that'd make him all… you know." 

Antonio started laughing. 

"If you have to ask that question, then you're way too loopy for an interrogation… or a conversation, for that matter. Go to sleep, Kid, and that's an order. " Antonio narrowed his eyes slightly. "And don't even think about feeding me some ridiculous line about how you're okay. I'm perfectly willing to punch you until you pass out if that's what it takes."

Jean shouted a panicked "Marco wouldn't approve!"

"Oh yeah? Well, he never expressly forbade me from using force to keep you out of trouble." Antonio's grin widened. "So if you don't want me to take matters into my own hands, I suggest you get some shut-eye. Let me worry about Captain Levi."

"But I can't sleep like this," Jean protested weakly, "carried over your shoulder like luggage."

"You know," Antonio said conversationally, "I still haven't forgiven you for what you did to Marco." 

"O- okay. Shutting up now." 

Jean squeezed his eyes shut and immediately went limp in imitation of sleep (or death) and wondered if this guy was one of those "black sheep" that Allan referred to. There was something deeply unsettling about Antonio Bodt but Jean wasn't sure what the source was. Was the feeling of uneasiness due to Jean's own weak nerves? Or was if the fear was indicative of an underlying issue that he could detect but not identify? Or maybe it was due to unconsciously comparing the two Bodts and finding just enough similarities to make the differences horrifically jarring. 

It could be all of those reasons. Or it could be something else entirely. All Jean knew for sure was that he didn't feel comfortable around Antonio. He exuded the same aura of reliability and benign friendliness that Marco did, but Jean couldn't find it in himself to relax around this Bodt. It wasn't just an impulsive, emotional decision; there really was something that Jean was forgotten. Something important. The longer he thought about it, the more certain he became that Antonio said or did something that Jean should have paid closer attention to. 

It gnawed in the back of his mind, but refused to come into focus no matter how hard Jean tried to remember. His thoughts chased themselves around and around in circles until, at some point, he finally succumbed to sleep. 

When Jean regained consciousness, it was in tiny increments. His first conscious thought was "it's warm" followed swiftly by "there's nothing digging into my stomach" and "I must be lying down" and "everything hurts". Conclusion: he somehow managed to fall asleep despite the extremely uncomfortable position. The next thing Jean wanted to know was if he opened his eyes, would Antonio be there, waiting and watching because of some stupid promise to a dead man? There was only one way to find out. 

Jean reluctantly cracked an eye open. 

He took in the familiar sight of his bedroom back at Headquarters and nearly cried with relief at distinct lack of creepy old guys hovering at his bedside. Jean pushed himself upright and took another look around to confirmed that, yes, the only person in the room was him. He flopped back down and scrubbed his hands over his face, laughing giddily. 

"You're in an awfully good mood." 

Jean yelped and bolted up with his fists raised. "Who the hell are you?!" 

A chair scraped on the ground somewhere out of his line-of-sight, near the window, and footsteps approached. Allan stopped at the side of Jean's bed with his hands tucked into his pants' pockets. His lips quirked into an amused, wry smile.

"Did you forget my name again, Kid?"

"Allan," Jean growled. "Don't scare me like that! Damn, I thought I was alone." 

"Someone needs to keep an eye on you," he said. 

"Did Antonio put you up to this?" Jean groaned.

"I put me up to this." Allan took a seat at the foot of Jean's bed without waiting to be invited. "If you're wondering what happened after you passed out on him, I'd be happy to tell you." 

"…crap. Did I talk in my sleep again? Please don't tell me I said something embarrassing!" 

Allan shook his head, much to Jean's relief. 

"You were dead to the world, Kid. Lucky for you, Antonio was there to step in when Captain Levi wanted to hit you until you woke up." Allan paused. "You should thank that Sasha girl too. She brought the patrol's survivors over to report in your place. It looked like Levi was going to refuse, just to be contrary, and he wanted to try pulling rank because Antonio was giving him lip, the idiot, but Sasha arrived in time to defuse the situation." 

Jean rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, I dunno… standing up to Captain Levi seems like a pretty brave thing to do to me, not stupid." 

Allan blinked in surprise. "Huh? I wasn't calling Antonio an idiot, even though he can be one." 

"Then—" 

"Levi might have the moniker of 'Humanity's Strongest' but that doesn't make him untouchable," Allan said archly. "And he should know better than to try pulling shit like that." 

"But I thought Captain Levi was the one of the highest ranked soldiers in the Scouting Legion," Jean said hesitantly. "Wouldn't Antonio have to listen to whatever Captain Levi says, whether he likes it or not?"

"If he cared about his career in the Scouting Legion, yes. But he doesn't. Antonio always intended to go back to his post in Garrison, way up North, once his darling baby cousin graduated. To be honest, I'm not really sure why he's still here…" 

Jean clamped down on an irrational surge of optimism ("because Marco's still alive") before it could be voiced. 

"His old Garrison captain would probably cry tears of joy if Antonio asked to come back, but…" Allan shook his head sharply. "I'm getting off topic here. Sorry."

"So what is the topic?" Jean said, warily. 

"Captain Levi wants to talk to you."

A chill shot through Jean's body. Did Captain Levi figure out that Jean lied during his report a few days ago? Did Sasha rat him out? No, that was stupid. Sasha wasn't the kind of person. Someone else then? Did someone else in the hallway hear that Jean gave two different reports and brought it to Captain Levi's attention? Or was he after information about that mess in the woods with all the Aberrant Types? Honestly, Jean didn't want to talk about that incident either. What could he say? The truth? That a dead man saved his life and guilt-tripped him before tending to his wounds? Hell no! But Jean couldn't tell a lie without knowing exactly what Sasha and Antonio and the rescued patrol said in their reports. He didn't want to risk contradicting their stories and drawing attention to himself.

"You don't have to talk to him if you really don't feel up to it," Allan offered. "We'd be willing to step in on your behalf." 

"I can't do that! It wouldn't be right," Jean protested. "And besides, it'd make me look really suspicious if you guys started protecting me all of a sudden." 

"It might be a little too late for that, Kid." Allan laughed. "Antonio's pretty fond of you and—hey, you were friends with a Bodt too, right?"

"Best friends," Jean corrected him.

"Then you must know how they get when they go all momma bear on you." Allan reached out to give Jean a sympathetic pat on the knee as he stood. "Anyway, I'd better go tend to my own duties." 

Jean looked up at Allan. "What should I do?" 

"Levi's supposed to be away today on a meeting or a mission or something, so you've got a little longer to decide your fate. Just don't take too long or Antonio will take matters into his own hands." 

The door shut behind Allan with a click and Jean was left staring at it in dismay. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Talking to Antonio would be to invite an interrogation on the previous day's events and Jean still didn't know if he could trust the older man with his theories. It didn't really matter if Antonio was a good person or not, if his loyalties lay with the source of the rot festering inside the Scouting Legion then Jean couldn't take that chance. But in that case, wouldn't everyone's motives be suspect? 

No. Stop that. 

Jean forced his mind off that slippery, paranoia-filled track by jumping to his feet and pacing. He couldn't keep doing this. Keeping his theories inside his head was only making things worse, more chaotic and less trustworthy. He had to talk to someone. Sasha was no good – too easily wound up and prone to jumping to conclusions. What Jean needed a sympathetic ear and a level head. 

Marco. What he needed was Marco. 

But where was that freckled nuisance when you needed him? Dead. Or pretending to be dead and wasn't that the mother of all asshole moves? Marco had better have a fucking good excuse for pulling that trick. Maybe there wasn't a good reason. Yeah, that's right, there couldn't be a reason good enough to justify turning your best friend's world completely upside-down. Inflicting all those blood-soaked and smoke-filled nightmares, painted vividly the inside of his eyes. Kept awake every night with terrified, accusatory screams echoing his mind's ear made by voices that grew increasingly hoarse and indistinct as they choked on their own blood and pulverized organs. It was the sound of his classmates being killed because of Jean's shabby leadership.

And worst of all, the sound of nothing at all. The absolute blankness borne out of a lack of information because nobody alive knew how Marco met his end. 

Jean's hands clenched into fists at his side. 

Oh, but that wasn't true anymore, was it? One person knew. The thief in the woods. The one that sounded like—was—no, it couldn't be Marco. Stop that. He is dead. Remember? Don't be crazy, he told himself sternly. You're the one who identified his body. Carried what was left of it. Watched it burn. There could be no mistaking it. Who could forget something like the feel of your best friend's half-severed organs spilling over your hands? Which, in hindsight, was a bit surprising given the lack of blood and viscera like with all the others…

"Wait a minute…"

Jean froze in mid-step, afraid that sudden movement would make the thought flit away like a startled insect. He turned that last thought over in his mind slowly. Carefully. 

What condition had Marco's body been in, really? Were there actually signs of rot or had Jean just assumed it when he saw the flies? The smell was terrible but there were a lot of corpses nearby; the smell of decomposing meat wasn't enough proof on its own. Part of Marco's body was missing, that much was in indisputable fact, but had any organs fallen out of the gaping cavity? Nobody else that suffered a similar fate escaped the indignity of having their internal organs scooped up with shovels. It should be the same in Marco's case and Jean could've sworn that it was, but… 

That horrible moment of discovery replayed in his nightmares enough times for Jean to have every gruesome detail memorized, both the truth and all the guilt-fueled embellishments, so he could say with absolute certainty that the body's severed edge was clean. There was a lot of blood on the street, and glass, but no organs – everything that remained was inside Marco's chest cavity when Jean found him, and nothing fell out when he carried it to the wagon. 

And that… that wasn't normal, was it?

It didn't normally happen. Not after two days in the sun and exposed to the elements. Or maybe it was normal? The battle in Trost and the aftermath was the first time he saw any sort of corpse up close. Jean needed a second opinion – the informed opinion of someone he could trust – before his imagination could give way to delusional optimism.

Sasha. 

Or Eren, if that demented scientist managed to cut him open enough times for Eren to have gained the knowledge Jean was seeking from personal experience. But, no, forget it. Personal grudges aside, asking that sort of question would be beyond creepy. And Eren would report everything back to Levi once he finished beating Jean's insensitive ass to a pulp. 

Yeah, asking Sasha was a much better idea.

Jean took a moment to change out of his disgusting blood and dirt covered uniform and into a fresh set. He stripped the ruined sheets from his bed, making a mental note to look for new ones later, and tossed the whole bundle at the spot designated by Connie as "laundry corner". If Captain Levi was really away on a mission, then Jean didn't have to worry about spot inspections of their room. Cleaning up could wait for later. He pulled on his boots and, after a quick stop at the washroom to make himself presentable, made his way to the cafeteria. 

He wasn't sure how much he missed while he was out, but the best place to find that out was where everyone tended to gather in their free time. Jean was certain that he'd find somebody there who would be able to fill in the blanks in his memory. He paused in the doorway, surprised to see that the room was almost empty save for a few older soldiers who were probably slacking off and all of the new recruits. Wasn't it the middle of the day? Everyone should still be busy with drills or guard duty or some other inane task.

Curious, Jean walked up to the table that the 104th unofficially claimed as "theirs" and greeted everyone with a lazy wave and a "hey guys".

"You're still alive!" Sasha cried tearfully as she launched herself at him. 

Jean grunted and stumbled back from the force of the impact. 

"Of course he's alive," Connie said. "He's my roommate, remember? I'd notice if he stopped breathing during the night."

"He snores?" Sasha asked excitedly.

"I do not!" Jean snapped irritably, shoving Sasha away so he could point threateningly at Connie. "Wipe that grin off your face. I know for a fact that I don't snore." 

"If you're asleep, how can you tell? But me? I'm the one that has to suffer." Connie crossed his arms over his chest with a smug smile. 

Reiner interrupted the brewing argument with a stern "Connie." 

Connie glanced over, nervous, but persisted on the topic. "It's a valid question!" 

"Actually, he doesn't snore," Armin said. He blinked in surprise when everyone turned to stare at him, Jean included, and he was quick to clarify with "Oh come on, guys! Don't tell me you already forgot about Marco." 

Jean hated the sudden, awkward silence that fell and the way nobody looked directly at him. The avoidance was just as obnoxious as the rude jokes made at his expense. Jean wondered if he really gave the impression that he was so mentally fragile and unstable that everyone had to walk on eggshells around him for fear of setting him off. With the exception of the last couple days, Jean thought he was actually doing a very good job of keeping his troubles to himself. His grief was nobody's burden but his own and he did his best to keep it that way. 

"O- of course we remember!" Sasha spoke a bit too loudly for her cheer be genuine. "Good ol' Marco. How could we ever forget his stories?"

Jean groaned and dropped his face into his hands. Sasha's words were an uncomfortable reminder that he still hadn't resolved the misunderstanding with Antonio. He really didn't want to die at the hands of Marco's overprotective cousin because of those damn stories. 

"Uh oh. Did I say something wrong?" Sasha said nervously. 

"Just… please stop mentioning them?" Jean pleaded. "It's causing me no end of grief." 

"If you don't us to talk about him around you, we understand." Armin gave the others a stern look. "Right?"

"Of course." Eren leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, adding his glare to Armin's. "We all know what it's like to lose someone, right?"

"I'm touched but I don't need any of your damn pity. And, anyway, that's not what I'm worried about." Jean flopped down in an empty chair and dropped his head to the table with a bang. "Antonio's gonna gut me alive," Jean moaned weakly. "I'll never be able to explain away all those stories." 

"Who?" Eren said with a confused frown. "I've never heard of him. How about you, Armin? Guys?"

Armin and the others denied knowing who this "Antonio" person was by shaking their heads or saying some variation of "no". Sasha bit her lip and glanced over at Jean's slumped form. Antonio had introduced himself when they met en route to the rally point at the entrance to the woods, so she knew the answer but she wasn't sure if it was proper for her to reveal this information. Jean shifted slightly in his chair. It wasn't enough to catch the others' attention but it allowed Sasha to catch a glimpse of Jean's face. His amber-brown eyes caught hers and his lips pressed together into a thin line. 

She nodded slightly and looked away. For whatever reason, Jean didn't want to reveal Antonio Bodt's existence yet and that was okay with her. She would follow his lead.

"He's one of the guys that HQ sent out as back-up and I'm pretty sure he hates me because my reputation precedes me," Jean said. "But more importantly, why are you guys all sitting around here? Did we get a day off or something?"

"'Or something' is right," Eren said. "Captain Levi and all the other executive officers have been stuck in some meeting since yesterday night. We went for practice today, like normal, but we were the only people to show up. Then some guy comes running up and says nobody's available to oversee our drills but we should go and do them anyway." 

"And as you can see," Ymir said, "we collectively went 'screw that' and left. Those drills are a waste of time anyway. Sitting around on our asses and relaxing is more useful."

"So something big did happen last night. What'd I miss?" Jean asked, feigning confusion and memory loss. 

"Aberrant Types," Armin said grimly. 

"Did you see them?" Connie interjected. "Me and Eren didn't get the orders to move out until way later than you guys. Some squad captains were set up when we got there, so they made us sit most of the fight out."

"We couldn't find them," Armin said while shaking his head.

Bertholdt added, "but we did find two survivors from the patrol. They were riding Sasha and Jean's horses."

"Oh, that's right. Thanks for reminding me. I wanted to ask you about that," Armin said, turning to Sasha.

And to Sasha's credit, she didn't freeze up or start laughing guiltily when those sharp blue eyes fixed on her. She was either a far better liar than Jean gave her credit for, or nothing interesting at all happened after they separated and that was extremely unlikely. Excellent liar it was, then.

"I told you this already," Sasha whined plaintively. "I let them take the horses 'cause they were hurt and out of gas! I couldn't make them walk back. That'd just be cruel." 

"But—" 

"But nothing," Jean said sharply. "I had a full tank of gas and Sasha had a full tank of gas. We could continue on and they couldn't, so they got to ride the horses. End of story." 

"Hey! Don't talk to Armin like that!" Eren snapped, "He's just trying to figure out what happened. He's helping!"

Connie leaned forward and shouted, "Well, I'm not going to sit here and let you keep badgering Sasha like that! Why won't you guys back off already? Sasha said nothing happened and Jean said nothing happened and the PATROL said nothing happened! Nothing happened! Stop asking!" 

"Armin wouldn't keep asking her unless he thought what she's hiding is something important!" Eren glared at Connie. "So back off and let him do his thing, unless you've got a better idea?" 

"Don't start this again, you guys." Reiner sighed wearily and stuck one of his massively muscled arms between Connie and Eren's faces, but the threat was completely ignored.

Jean glanced over at the girls and whispered, "I get the feeling that I'm missing something." 

Ymir expressively rolled her eyes and said, "You and me both, man. They've been at each other's throats since yesterday." 

Jean watched the quickly escalating fight for a few moments longer before deciding no amount of curiosity was worth this sort of trouble. He pushed his chair back and stood. He didn't want to be around when their shouting inevitably drew the attention of officers who were highly ranked enough to hand down punishment. Thanks to his quick temper and his unfounded reputation as a thug, Jean spent many of his trainee years getting caught in the wake of arguments he played no part in and assigned a portion of the blame. He had absolutely no desire to continue the pattern here in the Scouting Legion. 

"I'm getting out of here," Jean said to girls. 

"Good idea," Ymir agreed. 

She and Krista rose together to make a quick exit while the boys were occupied, only pausing long enough for Krista to ask Mikasa if she wanted to join them. Mikasa looked sorely tempted for the space of a heartbeat before her face smoothed back out into her usual composed expression. She shook her head and made a vague gesture at the fighting boys. Krista nodded, gave her a pat on the shoulder, and left with Ymir. 

"Wait up, Jean, I'm coming too." 

Sasha slipped away from the table and hurried to catch up with Jean, who had already reached the doors leading outside. She glanced back to check if anyone noticed the girls' absence but the boys were all too deeply engrossed in their argument. Eren and Connie's fights didn't immediately descend into violence the way Eren and Jean's did, but they were getting there. Fingers were already waving in each other's faces. Reiner had his hands full trying to separate the two on his own since Armin and Bertholdt were no help at all. Armin, caught sitting between the bickering duo, was busy trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible while Bertholdt hovered indecisively on the sidelines with a panicked expression.

The doors closed behind them with a muffled bang and they breathed a sigh of relief. 

"What the hell was that?" Jean shook his head in disbelief. "I thought picking fights was my thing. What's Connie doing muscling in on my territory?"

"I don't know and I don't care. I'm just happy to get away from it." Sasha stretched her arms over her head and made a pleased noise. "They were driving me crazy!" Sasha dropped her arms to her side and started walking away. "Connie's great and all, but I can fight my own battles, you know?" 

"Yeah," Jean agreed as he fell in beside her. "It's funny that they picked the part with the horses to get all suspicious about and not, you know, the Aberrants that appeared out of nowhere." 

"So there actually were Aberrant Titans out there?" Sasha asked. 

Jean's steps faltered. "What? Of course they were there. You ran into them too, right?" 

"I heard them and saw signs of them but I didn't actually see any with my own eyes," Sasha said. "I'm guessing this means that you did?" 

"Yeah? They wouldn't stop chasing me. I thought I was dead meat for a while there." Jean crossed his arms and frowned. "You know, I never saw teamwork like that before. Not in standard Titans. It worries me." 

"Uh, Jean? They're called Aberrant for a reason." Sasha pointed out dryly. "They're so scary because they're identical to standard types, up until they do something weird." 

"I guess," Jean said skeptically. "Anyway, are you sure that nobody else saw the Titans?"

"If someone did see them, or got a kill, it wasn't anyone that we know." Sasha said. "We've been talking about what we saw last night ever since drills were sort-of cancelled. None of us personally saw the Titans that the patrol members did. Connie and Eren were stuck at the command post all night – that's one of the reasons they're so cranky today, by the way – and neither of them heard kills reported by any of the soldiers that came back." 

"That's weird…" Jean stared down at his boots as he thought. "When I parted with Antonio, he was taking on three of them. Did he let them go?" 

"I wouldn't blame the guy if he did," Sasha said. "One Aberrant is terrifying enough. Facing three on your own?" She shuddered. "That's suicidal!" 

"He looked good enough to take them on, but I guess you're right." Jean said. 

"So who is this guy, anyway? We ran into each other when I went looking for you. He said he'd handle it from there and sent me away to protect the injured patrol members." 

"Antonio Bodt. He's Marco's cousin," Jean said with a grimace. "To be more specific, Marco's doting and overprotective older cousin. He's completely convinced that I've done unspeakable things to Marco. Things so terrible that a blood sacrifice, MY blood to be specific, is needed to wash away the sins."

"Have you?" 

"NO!" Jean denied. Not that he could remember, at least. 

"Then quit being so melodramatic!" Sasha laughed and slapped his shoulder. "If he's anything like Marco, he can't be that bad. I'll bet you anything that he's only scaring you 'cause he thinks your reactions are funny. Which, you know, they are." 

"I am so glad that my suffering is entertaining," Jean said flatly. "I can rest easy now that you've solved the mystery." 

"Aw, come on. Don't be so grumpy, grumpy." Sasha pinched Jean's cheek and laughed when he slapped her hand away. "I saw that smile. Admit it, you're feeling better!"

"It's amazing what a full night's sleep can do to improve your mood," Jean said instead. "Anyway, I have a question for you. It might be a little weird but, please, just tell me the answer first." 

"Okay…" Sasha said, warily. 

"So, um, you come from a long line of hunters, right? Trapping and killing animals is your thing?" Jean paused to wait for Sasha to nod before continuing. "Then you'd know what's normal when something dies and what's not, right?"

"…Jean?"

"Would you know?!" Jean shouted, staring at the ground and refusing to meet her worried eyes.

"Y- yeah, I'd know." Sasha said. 

Jean's voice was shaking when he asked, "When you slaughter an animal, do the guts fall out?" 

Sasha blinked, thrown by the apparent non-sequitur. "Um, yeah? Duh? Of course they do." She wondered if Jean's nervousness was caused by the topic but she ruled it out quickly. Jean wasn't squeamish about blood and guts anymore. Something else was the cause. "Jean, what's this all about?

"Even after a couple days?" He said in a small voice. 

"Especially after a couple days," Sasha replied instantly. "Jean. Tell me. Why are you asking this? You don't have to be a hunter or butcher to know that gravity makes things fall when you take away whatever's hold it in place."

"I just—no, it's nothing. I just wanted an informed opinion on something." Jean waved a hand dismissively and shook his head. "That's what I thought, too, but I had to be sure." He started walking away. "Sorry to waste your time."

"You had to be sure of what, Jean?" Sasha reached out to grab hold of Jean's shoulder. "Come on, you trust me. I swear I won't tell anyone if that's what you're worried about."

"No, that's not it. I know I can trust you," Jean gave her a thin smile. 

"Then what is it that's got you all wound up?" Sasha asked, exasperated. 

"It's—I'm working on a new theory," Jean said slowly, choosing his words with great care. "I don't want to talk about it yet. I don't have enough information." 

"Is it about the spy and all the…" Sasha waved a hand in an indecipherable gesture. "You know, corruption and missing stuff?

Jean flinched. 

"I can't say yet." He cringed inwardly at how pathetic the excuse sounded. "Please, give me some time to think about this before I tell you. I will, if it turns out to be relevant. I will." 

Sasha didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "I'm only letting you off the hook now because we're friends, got it? I'm still expecting an answer." 

"And you'll get one." Eventually.

"…Fine." Sasha reluctantly released Jean's shoulder and gave it a small shove. "You'd better not be lying." 

"Thanks," Jean said with a wan smile. "I'll try not to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was ridiculously difficult to write and it's all those overly friendly Bodts' fault. Stop being so helpful, you asses, you're ruining the mystery! At least I managed to keep Marco from making an unscheduled appearance...


	9. Chapter 9

Jean watched as Sasha left without saying another word before turning and making his way across the yard. Sasha spent enough time in his company now that she knew that if she continued to press for details, Jean would eventually blurt something out due to frustration. She would have her answers but the information would come at the cost of Jean's hard-won faith in her and, thankfully, she decided it wasn't worth that price. It was clear from the rigid line of her back that Sasha was still worried but she was tactful enough to back off. 

She walked away, and Jean was more grateful than she would ever know.

She didn't tell him anything he didn't already know about how dead bodies worked, but knowing that she was as close to an expert as he could get without talking to the Science and Research division was enough. His mind and emotions were thrown into complete disarray as a disgusting amount of delusional optimism surged up at the confirmation that there was something very strange about condition of Marco's corpse. It crowding out the more pressing concerns about the failing state of the Scouting Legion. It dominated his thoughts, making him nearly giddy with relief, before he was brought crashing down by the crushing reality that there was no way to confirm his theories without… 

Well, without asking Marco himself. 

So there were only a couple viable options here. One, he was completely wrong and Marco really was turned to ashes and Jean was suffering from a delusional break from reality. This was the most realistic choice. Or, two, Marco was alive out there and in hiding for whatever reason. If he really did manage to survive — if Marco really was that thief in the woods who was a little too invested in Jean's continued wellbeing, then there was only one way to explain his survival and the mere thought of it made Jean's hands shake with dread. 

Shifter. 

Marco would have to be a Shifter. A Titan. He would have to be like Eren. Like Annie. And if he was a Shifter, then whose side would he be on?

Eren was, without a doubt, on Humanity's side. He was just too naive and too single-minded and too idiotic to be a spy. And Annie… Well, everyone misread Annie except for Armin. Armin was always prepared for a worst-case-scenario and if it wasn't for his quick thinking, then casualties from the attempt to capture the Female Type would've been even worse. Armin was smart and a good ally, but Jean couldn't help but wonder. What happened in Eren, Mikasa, and Armin's past that made them all so willing – no, that wasn't quite right. It was more like something made it easy for them ignore the weight of another person's life. Jean could never be that ruthless. Not even for a worthy cause. Jean knew his hesitation made him a liability, and weak, but he already made his peace with being a coward. He knew that his best efforts wouldn't ever be enough and that the best he could do was try to minimize losses and that he had no choice but to live with that. To live with the blood of others on his hands. 

He was pretty sure that Eren and Mikasa learned this lesson too, back in the battle on the plains, but they didn't let it stop them. He wasn't so sure Armin did, though, and Jean couldn't decide if Armin's ruthlessness was because he was still too young or because he grew up too fast. It was the same sort of feeling that Annie gave off. Jean couldn't help but be tense around people like them. The feeling that he needed to be on guard and watch his words never really went away no matter how long he spent in their company but, on the other end of the spectrum, people like Marco welcomed it. He took it as a challenge. Marco ended up concerned about their wellbeing and that, in turn, made him nosy as hell and he wouldn't stop pressing until he got an answer he could accept.

And, hey, maybe that was what happened on that day. 

If Marco was a Shifter, then he wouldn't have to worry about lasting damage caused by good-naturedly poking his nose into Annie's business. Someone he thought was just another normal human being. He'd feel free to do whatever was necessary to keep her from straying off the right path. And from what Allan said and how Antonio reacted when Jean was caught lying, it seemed like a very Bodt thing to do to get involved in other people's affairs. Maybe that's what happened on that day; Marco followed Annie and saw something he shouldn't have. Maybe he found out about Stohess and Trost. Maybe he learned what Annie really was, and who her accomplices were, and what else they were planning, was killed to keep that information from coming to light. 

And if Marco was a secretly a Shifter himself? If he was capable of coming back from an injury like that, and did, then he would have every reason in the world to lie low. Annie's accomplices were still at large and somewhere in the Scouting Legion. 

In fact, if Marco had any brains at all, he would have run as far from here as possible. He would have disappeared. What he absolutely should NOT be doing is wandering around in Trost's woods, where the Scouting Legion's and Garrison's squads still patrolled regularly. He shouldn't be stealing from the Scouting Legion either. Okay, the stuff in the cabin technically still belonged to Garrison but the point remained that stealing wasn't a very morally upstanding thing to do. 

But most importantly, he shouldn't have blown his cover for such an inane reason. Because he just couldn't resist turning back so he could nag Jean about injuries that weren't even that serious. Really. His arm and leg only need a few small stitches, that's all. They weren't even infected or anything.

So, if Marco was alive, what was he still doing here? And how did Antonio fit into everything? Did Antonio know that his cousin was still alive and at large and, apparently, turned to a life of crime? Or did Marco spit on Antonio's friendship and concern too? Did Marco think so little of them that he couldn't turn to them for help? 

Or was Marco another Annie? 

Jean scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned. He didn't want to think about it, but it was possible. If they could all misjudge Annie's character then why couldn't they have all misjudged Marco's as well? What if Annie's accomplice was Marco? What if Marco faked his death with Annie's help and made use of his prior connection to the Scouting Legion through Antonio and Antonio's friendship with the veteran soldiers to find out everything she needed to know? And if the Scouting Legion's investigation turned up Marco's name as the spy, what could they do? Nothing. He'd already be dead and there would be no doubt about the truth of the official reports because Marco ensured that his body would be identified by the one person who'd know it anywhere, no matter what condition it was found in.

The only hiccup in the plan would be Armin's unexpected discovery of Marco's gear in Annie's possession. 

Maybe Marco gave it to her before she cut him down, or bit him in half, or whatever. Nobody would think that it'd be possible to identify someone's gear just by glancing at it, but Armin did. Somehow. Finding out forced Annie's hand. She knew she'd be torn apart for every scrap of information she possessed and if the glimmers of kindness she showed back in their trainee days wasn't a complete lie, then there was no way that Annie would want to take Marco down with her. She retreated inside that impenetrable crystal along with everything she knew and left Marco safe, for now, but stranded without an identity or anyone to turn to for help.

So, alone and frightened, Marco would likely run to the nearest possible refuge. His family thought he was dead so there was no going back to Jinae. He'd have no other choice but to approach the Scouting Legion. The place tearing itself apart trying to find him was also the place where Marco's two favourite and most trusted people were now living. He'd have to risk it because he lacked the skills to survive entirely on his own.

Or maybe Jean was completely wrong. Maybe Marco was just another Eren: an unlucky sucker caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and had Shifter abilities forced upon him. Jean couldn't help but laugh hysterically at the thought. It wasn't possible for two people to be that singularly unlucky. No, Marco had to be—

"Jean?" A lightly accented male voice called out from above him. 

Jean jolted out of his downward spiraling thoughts and looked up with a smile on his face, grateful for the distraction. Leaning out of a window set several meters above the ground was a familiar dark-haired man in hideously ugly clothes. It would seem that last night's reprieve wasn't a permanent change. If anything, the getup was even worse than it was the first time he saw it. Jean forced himself to look at Antonio's face and nowhere else. 

"Do you seriously have no other clothes?" Jean blurted out. 

"My wardrobe choices are still none of your concern." 

"I'm the one that has to look at it," Jean said. 

Jean wasn't sure why he was trying to pick a fight with Antonio of all people when he should be trying to get on the older man's good side, but Jean's mouth had a tendency to say things without his brain's input. Thankfully, he didn't appear to take offense beyond a half-hearted huff of annoyance. 

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Antonio said. 

"What do you mean?" Jean said, puzzled at the older man's sudden good cheer. 

This was a far cry from the mood Antonio was in last couple times they talked. Did Antonio take a hit from Captain Levi for him and get brain damage or something? He might not know Marco's cousin very well but Jean spent enough time around the guy to know that Antonio made him nervous. And yet this conversation was almost… pleasant. Was it his imagination or was something weird going on?

Antonio rest his chin on his crossed arms and sighed. "Did you forget our bet?" He asked with an amused smile. 

"Bet?" 

Jean's brows furrowed in confusion. Wasn't that resolved already? Jean did say that he wasn't going to stop until he figured out the true identity of "the jerk who woke him up and kicked him out" but he did that already. Well, okay, it was actually Allan who figured it out but when Jean called Antonio by his name last night, the older man had shown no signs of remembering their little wager. Jean assumed that meant that the fight didn't mean much to him and Jean put it out of his mind… so why would Antonio chose to bring it up now? 

No, it wasn't his imagination. There really was something weird about Antonio today. Jean was too tired to make sense of anything last night but now was a different story. Now, he would get Jean's full attention. 

"You can give up if you'd like. I won't hold it against you," Antonio offered graciously. 

"In your dreams," Jean retorted. "I'll figure out who you are, just you wait." 

"Just thought I'd ask." 

"So what's up?" Jean shifted his weight and noted how Antonio's eyes immediately darted to the injured leg and arm. Now that was interesting. "Did you need to tell me something?"

"Are you allowed to be walking around so soon?" 

Jean stood up straight. "No, but so what? You're not my mom." 

He allowed the injured leg to quiver slightly, as if it was actually causing him trouble, before locking his knee and crossing his arms over his chest. Then, Jean summoned up the most stubborn and sullen scowl he could muster and let it settle over his features. Luckily, Jean hadn't bothered to change the bandages on his leg yet and a bit of old blood seeped through the white fabric of his pants. It definitely looked worse than it really was. If this really was the same Antonio that carried Jean all the way back to the Scouting Legion's headquarters to be tended, then he should already know that Jean's leg injury was actually very minor. Jean had concealed far worse injuries as a trainee.

But Antonio didn't back down as would be expected. Instead, he frowned and his head briefly disappeared from view, followed by the sound of books and other objects being moved, before he reappeared. Antonio leaned further out of the window to reached down to offer a hand to Jean.

"Come on then," he said. 

Jean stared at the hand. "What?" 

"Give me your hand," he said with an exasperated expression. "I'm going to pull you up so you can get off that leg. Hurry up." 

"I can just sit down here, you know." Jean said slowly, pointing at the ground. 

"No. You're sitting where I can keep an eye on you." Antonio wiggled his fingers. "Hurry up, Jean. The window frame is digging into my stomach." 

Jean made a big show of rolling his eyes before taking Antonio's hand. Antonio gave a grunt of exertion as he braced himself, holding steady as Jean scrambled up the rough stones of the building's exterior and reached for the window frame. Once he was certain that Jean had a good grip and wasn't in danger of falling, Antonio grabbed hold of harness belts at Jean's waist and hauled him the rest of the way up. 

"Damn, you've gotten heavy." Antonio complained. 

Jean was sprawled over Antonio's lap but the guy didn't try to force Jean to move. No normal person would be so blasé about someone they just met (and didn't really like) invading their personal bubble like this, but the only thing the dark-haired man did was lean back. His hand rested on the small of Jean's back where he had been gripping the harness and his dark eyes slid shut. With Antonio's attention focused on catching his breath, Jean took the opportunity to study the man's face. Jean looked past the distracting goggles and scarf to take note of the lack of tension in his features. Jean studied the painfully familiar line of his jaw where it was marred by the extensive scar tissue that crawled up his neck and over the bridge of his nose before disappearing into his hairline. The scar tissue still looked shiny and raw in places but the undamaged side of his face, what little was visible past the huge goggles, had a light dusting of freckles.

Wait. 

That's it. This was what was bothering him so much. This was what Jean saw but didn't really see, not until now. 

It was against his will and he really didn't like the indignity of it at the time, but Jean was thankful now that he was forced so close enough to Antonio's face. It wasn't just scar tissue, like he originally assumed, and without the distraction of the colourful outfit, Jean actually was able to see just how extensive the damage to the veteran's soldier face really was. The damage to Antonio's face was mostly concentrated on his right side, like it was now, but it wasn't evenly spread. His jaw and cheek got the worst of it, whatever "it" was, with some minor damage to his neck and shoulder. The most serious damage was done to the bone structure of his face and not even the Scouting Legion's (or maybe Garrison's) best surgeons could straighten it out completely. 

And now? Now, the scars extended all the way from his hairline, down the side of his neck and past the collar of his shirt. Jean cringed to look at it, to think about what could have caused such damage, but the key point was that the scarring was equally awful. 

But the most telling thing of all wasn't actually the scars. No, it was the way the older man didn't react to Jean's blatant invasion of his personal space. It was a different story from yesterday and Jean wasn't vain enough to think that he managed to thoroughly charm Antonio while he was unconscious dead weight. But, wait, maybe Antonio was just too lazy and tired to care that Jean was lying across his lap? Time to test it out.

Jean got up, mumbling some excuse about not wanting to fall out the window or land face-first on the library floor, and climbed over the man to sit down on his right. He sat the side closest to the library's interior, which had the most space. It also happened to be the same side that Jean used to always take back in the barracks, as a trainee, and he settled against the man's side in an overly familiar way that was guaranteed to provoke a response. 

And it worked, but not the way Jean expected. Or, rather, it was exactly the response Jean was looking for but didn't dare to expect. 

The older man, eyes still closed, lifted his arm out of the way when he realized what Jean was doing and dropped it around the younger boy's shoulders when he sat down. His fingers immediately buried themselves in the short, dark brown hair at the base of Jean's skull. He shifted to rest his head against Jean's with a soft sigh. Just the way he always did back then, when he used to force Jean to give up his blankets and pillows because just his weren't enough to make a sufficiently cozy cocoon. Because he wasn't happy unless Jean was pressed against his side and in danger of dying from a combination of heatstroke and boredom. Because that freckled nuisance liked having company when he read books in languages that Jean couldn't understand.

Jean didn't know if he should laugh, or cry, or punch the asshole right in his lying face. 

Instead, he narrowed his eyes and mumbled "Marco?" in a half-asleep voice that was straight out of those memories.

And the idiot replied "Yes, Jean?"

Jean waited for a response. He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what good Marco thought he was accomplishing by faking his death. Let him say his excuses. Let him try to run away again. Let him laugh at Jean's stupidity for confronting him alone in a place with no witnesses. Whatever Marco chose to do, Jean would watch his reaction and decide then if he had wasted his tears and his grief, had dedicated his life to someone who didn't deserve it. Someone who certainly didn't deserve to have a cousin that loved him so much he was willing to risk his career and his life just to be nearby in case Marco needed a familiar shoulder to cry on. Let the bastard try to explain this all away.

But the longer Jean waited for a reaction and received absolutely nothing, the more Jean suspected the reply was automatic. Unconscious. Marco might not even realize that he blew his cover. 

Well. What to do now? Should he see how much information he could extract before Marco realized what was going on? Or should he try to find a way to restrain Marco so he couldn't make a run for it? Or should he be the good friend Marco didn't deserve and let him try to explain himself? 

"Marco," Jean repeated. Good friend it was, then.

There was no response but Jean was close enough to hear the telltale sound of his breathing growing deeper and more even. Was the asshole really going to fall asleep on him? What was wrong with him?! Didn't he know how much trouble he was in right now?

"Hey, Marco!" Jean slapped at his face but Marco immediately grabbed the offending appendage with his free hand and trapped it between his arm and body. "Let me go, you fucking asshole." 

"Language," he warned drowsily.

"Are you sleep-nagging me? Seriously?!" Jean said incredulously. "At a time like this."

"No, I'm awake." Marco stifled a yawn. "I am."

"Uh, no, I'm pretty sure you aren't." Jean frowned. "Do you even know where you are right now? And how mad I am at you?" 

"I'm in the Scouting Legion's Library." Marco opened his soft brown eyes to meet Jean's blazing amber-brown ones and said, "and I assume that you're justifiably very upset with me and will let me know exactly how much trouble I'm in. I'm sorry. I should have come to you sooner." 

"You— yes, you should have. And I am mad. So mad. You're in so much shit right now, I don't even know where to begin," Jean said haltingly. 

His anger, white-hot and blinding only moments ago, was sputtering out in the face of Marco's sleepily disoriented and genuinely apologetic and sheepishly guilty smile. At the very least, Marco deserved to be hit for the stunt he pulled. He owed Jean and Antonio and everyone else in the 104th a full explanation and an apology. He shouldn't be let off the hook so easily but Jean found his anger difficult to hold onto when he found his thoughts drifting back toward his earlier concerns. Was Marco on Annie's side? Was he on Humanity's side? What was he, really? Jean needed answers and as cathartic as breaking Marco's nose would be, that wouldn't do any good in the long run.

"Jean? Before you hit me, do you mind if I take some of this stuff off?" Marco tugged at the glittering multi-coloured floral print scarf draped around his neck. "It doesn't belong to me and I'd really rather not get blood all over it."

"Uh, sure. Go right ahead." Jean waved an open hand in invitation. He added, "it's an eyesore."

"Thank you," he said gratefully, "I think so too." 

Marco immediately began stripping off the extraneous pieces of clothing and reached across Jean to set them aside on the table below the window ledge. There was a stack of books on the far side of table, along with a mug filled with some sort of fruity tea, long cold from the looks of it, and a thick blanket. Jean didn't dare to look at Marco until he breathed a sigh of relief and said "That's so much better!" Marco pared the outfit down to the regulation uniform pants and boots and an ugly burlap-brown shirt that Jean now recognized as one from Marco's meager collection of casual outfits. 

"So YOU were the weirdo watching me sleep in the veteran's secret lounge!" Jean mentally apologized to Antonio for thinking he was a creepy old pervert.

Marco slapped away the accusatory finger that Jean pointed at him and said, "I wasn't watching you sleep! I came back to look for my book. You know, the red one with gold lettering? And you happened to wake up just then. What were you doing there anyway? New recruits aren't allowed in that room."

"Oh? Then what about you?" Jean shot back. "You're not even a new recruit!"

"Tony's allowed in. I look like him and if I dressed like him too, nobody would question my presence if they couldn't see my face." Marco replied. 

"That's… actually a really good point," Jean said. "I didn't think of that. Everyone got so used to seeing him wearing that garbage that they probably don't pay much attention to things that don't match up."

"Like what?" Marco asked curiously. "What gave me away? I thought my disguise was pretty clever."

"Where to start," Jean said dryly. He ticked off the points on his fingers as he listed them off. "Your scars are different. Your eye colour is too different from his to be completely disguised with tinted glass. You're also shorter than him. You're not as broad in the shoulders than him either. Your ass is way nicer than his, though. What else? Your speech patterns are different. For example, he calls me 'Kid' even though he knows my real name but you only call me 'Jean'. You aren't constantly threatening me to harm me. Your stories didn't line up – he thinks our first encounter was in the training yard and you thought it was in the veterans' secret lounge. You also claimed to like that outfit but he immediately made excuses for it. And you weren't bothered by me invading your personal space and lying on you just now."

"O- oh, is that all?" Marco said with an embarrassed laugh. 

"No, that's not all." Jean put a hand on Marco's shoulder and gave a disappointed little shake of his head. "The most telling thing of all… was that you answered your own name. Without hesitation. Then you didn't even try to come up with an excuse afterwards." 

"In my defense, I thought you already figured it out last night in the woods." 

"I did, but you could have at least tried to throw me off today." Jean accused, "What kind of shitty spy are you?"

"Before I answer that, can we go back to the part where you complimented my b—" 

"Don't change the subject!" Jean shouted, red-faced with embarrassment. 

Marco started reply but he was cut off with a muffled "Who's in there?" coming from the next room. The voice was familiar but Jean couldn't pinpoint it beyond knowing that it belonged to one of the officers. However, it seemed that Marco did know it and he turned ghostly pale. 

"I have to go," He said and began scrambling for his scattered belongings, tossing everything but his mug of tea into the blanket and wrapping it up. "Take this for me." Marco shoved the mug into Jean's hands. "Toss it. Not here, but somewhere. Thanks."

"What's going on? What's got you so panicked?" Jean turned to look at the direction the other voice came from. He could almost remember exactly where he heard it before. Jean started to move toward the door, intending to get close enough to hear it clearly, only to have Marco seize his arm and haul him back. 

"No, Jean! Don't." Marco begged. 

"Then explain yourself." Jean scowled and tugged his arm free from Marco's grip. "I can't decide if I'm going to help you or not if I don't know what the hell is going on."

Marco bit his lip. He glanced back at the muffled sound of conversation that was growing more distinct as the speakers began approaching the door to the library. He looked back at Jean and opened his mouth—then snapped it shut and shook his head. Exhaustion and pain lined Marco's face, making it more than clear he was far from fully recovered. 

"The Science Department is over there. I shouldn't have to explain why I can't let them find me." Marco hugged the bundle of his belongings to his chest and shuffled toward the open window. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

"Then what the hell are you doing hiding in their library?" Jean said, incredulously. "No, forget that for now. Why should I let you run off? What's keeping you from disappearing on me again? Only permanently this time."

Marco was already standing on the ground and prepared to bolt but he couldn't bring himself to run without saying something. 

"Jean. I already put innocent people in danger, at least twice now, because I was too worried about you to think straight." Marco reached up and helped Jean down from the window sill. "Trust me, I won't be able to stay away for very long at the rate you're going."

"What does that mean?" Jean demanded. 

"I'd tell you if it involved just me. I'm sorry. Please, just—be careful, Jean. I'll see you around." 

Marco took off at a speed that far exceeded anything he displayed back as a trainee. Jean cursed and tried to give chase but when he rounded the corner of the Science Department's library, there was no sign of his old friend anywhere. The yard was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I only managed to fend Marco off for a grand total of one chapter (or only a couple hours, in-story) once he figured out how much trouble Jean was in. It'll be interesting trying to keep him from butting into scenes he doesn't belong in, now...


	10. Chapter 10

Jean spent the rest of the afternoon scouring the Science Department's wing and the surrounding buildings for any sign of Marco's presence before he was forced to abandon the search. A soldier that Jean vaguely remembered seeing during the infantry drills appeared from the depths of Hange Zoe's laboratory to drive the young soldier off, saying that the senior officers concluded their meeting and all of the new recruits were summoned for an announcement. No exceptions. Jean joined the others in the training yard where, much to everyone's dismay, it was announced that Captain Levi's stupid assignment would continue without pause. 

The appearance of Titans in the woods proved that their efforts were paying off, they claimed, so shut up get back to work.

Eren glanced over at Connie, looking for support or encouragement before giving voice to his protest. Jean was too far away to hear but he guessed that Connie must have said something Eren didn't agree with because Eren's face turned murderous and he opened his mouth to start yelling. A sharp look from Armin and a quick jab to the gut by Mikasa silenced him. Temporarily. He remained outwardly obedient while the senior officers filed away to do whatever it was they did in the evenings while the 104th stared at the night, but the moment they were out of earshot, Eren turned to Connie and started shouting.

"Don't tell me you're on their side!" He snarled.

"I'm not on anyone side," Connie protested. "I just said they have a point. Yeah, it's scary to go back out there with Titans still in the woods but they said that Garrison's out there helping too. It'll be fine. Let's just do what we're told. The Titans aren't our problem."

Jean slid over to where the others were standing around and watching. "What's going on? Is this the same fight as before?"

Ymir responded with a bored, "Yup. It's starting to get old." 

"Eren does kinda have a point though?" Sasha said, "there aren't any confirmed kills. Anyone would be worried with three Aberrants in the woods."

"I thought it was only two," Armin said. 

He left Eren and Connie behind in Mikasa's capable hands and joined the spectators watching the fight unfold at a safe distance. He looked straight at Sasha. She shook her head in immediate denial. 

"Nuh-uh," Sasha said. "The patrol guy and I saw traces of one chasing their injured Second in Command. That's one. The patrol lady that Jean was with said they ran into a couple, too. That makes three."

Jean blinked, confused. 

That wasn't right at all. Sasha was there too when the ambushed patrol gave their initial report. The two soldiers claimed that they were running from three Titans and, as Jean later discovered, there were indeed three Titans back the way they came from. If she found another one while searching for the downed Second in Command, then that was four. Sure, there was that quiet Titan that tried to sneak up on him and Marco near the hunter's cabin (making for a total of five unaccounted for), but she couldn't be expected to know about that one. 

What was going on? A memory lapse? Something else?

"My source was sure it was just two," Armin insisted. 

"Well, I don't know where your 'source' got that idea because they're totally wrong." Sasha glanced at Jean. "Right?"

Sasha must have heard that Captain Levi was out to confirm what he saw after he left the two patrol members behind to act as decoy. Or, perhaps, she suspected that Armin was going to independently report his findings to the executive officers. Either way, she was trying to keep Jean from contradicting the existing reports and the effort was much appreciated. It was weird that both the red-head and the injured soldier reported only two Titans on their end but Jean decided that it wasn't something to worry about right now. He was just relieved that Sasha wasn't holding a grudge over Jean's earlier evasiveness. 

"Yeah, that sounds right." Jean nodded. "I was wondering if those two made it out okay and… hey!" Jean made his expression brighten, as if the thought just occurred to him, and he said "I guess that means I don't have to bother giving my report now!" even though he knew perfectly well that he wasn't going to escape an interrogation that easily.

"Think again," Ymir said. 

"All of us had to give a report," Krista said apologetically. 

Now that was interesting, Jean thought as he made himself slouch slightly in disappointment. Maybe they didn't figure out that he was hiding information yet? On the other hand, asking everyone to report could be a smokescreen to conceal the real target of their investigation. He tuned back in to the conversation in time to hear the tail-end of Ymir's complaining. 

"Even if we saw nothing and had to sit on our asses all night and listen to those old farts argue about what to do." Ymir scoffed and looked pointedly at Connie and Eren. 

"Argue?" Jean echoed. 

"There was a dispute over chain of command," Armin explained. "A squad from Garrison showed up around the same time that our back-up did. Nobody was allowed into the forest until they decided who was in charge and, by then, the patrol had been rescued."

Jean calmly met Armin's piercing stare. He knew that the blond was dying of curiosity but Jean felt in no way obligated to satisfy his curiosity. Not when Marco was nearby and in some sort of trouble. He wasn't even going to hint at the possibility that anything the freckled idiot was involved in had actually happened. Until Jean heard the truth for himself, there were no thieves in the woods and there was nothing strange about Antonio Bodt.

"What did you see?" Armin asked, when it became clear that Jean wasn't going to volunteer any information without prompting.

Jean shrugged and said, "Same thing the others did," as he started walking toward his assigned position. 

"But there's a gap in time between when they saw you last and when Sasha found you!" Armin jogged to keep up with Jean's quick pace. "Something happened, I know it!"

Jean frowned, annoyed by the persistence, and wondered where Armin was getting his information from. 

Did Connie or Eren overhear the other soldiers' reports and told Armin, despite knowing they could get in trouble for spreading the information that was supposed to be for the superior officers' ears only? Did Armin start piecing together the information on his own by grilling everyone for information on that night's events? Had Armin been present when Antonio Bodt picked a fight with Captain Levi over who had the right inflict violence on Jean's unconscious body? 

Or was he just bluffing? Was he making random guesses in hopes of unsettling Jean enough to shake new information loose? 

Armin's curiosity could be completely benign. He could just be seeking information for the sake of his own peace of mind… but the opposite could also be true. Armin could be working on behalf of Captain Levi, or Commander Erwin. If they were willing to trust Armin's judgement – if they were willing to follow the plan of an untested new recruit during a high-stakes operation whose failure could mean wiping the Scouting Legion out of existence, then it was more likely than not that Armin was acting with the blessing of their commanding officers. Therefore, regardless of Jean's opinion of Armin himself, he couldn't relax his guard around someone with a direct line to Scouting Legion's superior officers when they were acting so suspiciously. 

The situation had changed. Jean could no longer afford to take that risk because Marco survived the disaster in Trost. He came back from a state that no other Titan or human had before. He recovered even after losing most of his head and neck and body, and the implications of that could change everything. Marco wasn't acting alone in those woods, after all, and he could represent a new faction in play. What if there were more people like Marco? What if he represented a new strain of Titan that was completely impervious to the only known method of killing them? And if these new intelligent Titans went on a rampage…

No, stop thinking about it.

Even in his anger, Jean had to admit that Marco wasn't the kind of person to associate with genuinely malicious people. Marco was the same idiotic worrywart he was back then. The group in the woods was (hopefully) harmless enough to leave humanity alone. For now.

"Do you really want to know?" Jean said, because he knew he couldn't dodge Armin's questions forever. Staying silent would be more suspicious. 

Armin immediately perked up, as did several others within eavesdropping range, and the blond nodded enthusiastically. 

"Then you should direct all your questions to Captain Levi because I was unconscious." Jean couldn't help but laugh at the look of disappointed betrayal on Armin's face, and the wide-eyed horror on Sasha's face that turned into a relieved but grumpy frown. "It's the truth," Jean said defensively. "There's no big secret here. I didn't say anything 'cause there's nothing to tell."

Sasha jumped in and said, "So what that red-haired lady said was really all there was? You played decoy, ran away, then fainted somewhere until we found you?" 

"You don't have to say it like that," Jean protested. 

"Hearing yet another story about Jean's incompetence is totally fascinating and everything, but let's get going already. You heard the bosses." Ymir interrupted. "We're going to sit out there and do nothing and like it."

"But this is so pointless," Sasha whined. "Can't we skip for just one day? Garrison's supposed to be out there too, right? That's more than enough eyes on the road. They don't need us!"

"They must have a reason for doing this," Armin said. "We shouldn't question our orders." 

Jean spotted the mutinous look on Sasha's face and said "Let's just go" before she could say a word. 

He walked away swiftly, fairly certain that she would interpret his actions as a sign that he had something to discuss with her in private, and was rewarded moments later with the sound of Sasha's footsteps on the gravel road. Good. They split off from the others but spent the rest of their way walking in silence. Lingering tension from the previous night's fight and the constant presence of unfamiliar soldiers from Garrison and the Scouting Legion made them too jumpy and paranoid. They didn't dare to discuss anything weighing on their minds for fear of who could be sitting out of sight, listening as their voices were carried away on the crisp night breeze. It was the quietest and tensest night they spent since the assignment began. 

Morning took an eternity to arrive. 

Sasha and Jean eagerly scrambled out of the ditch at the first sign of daylight on the horizon and hurried down the road. There should not be traffic of any sort at that time of day, making it possible to return to headquarters unseen, but it appeared that the military was taking the reports of Aberrants in Trost's woods very seriously. Soldiers from both Garrison and the Scouting Legion were still patrolling the New Road and they could hear people crashing around in the woods. It would seem that nobody found the Aberrants yet.

There wasn't a break in foot traffic until they had nearly reached the Scouting Legion's headquarters. The moment that they were out of earshot of the other soldiers, Sasha spoke. 

"I'll give the report today," she offered. 

Jean turned to look at her with narrowed eyes and asked "Why?" Sasha never offered to take his place before. Ever. 

"Can't I do something nice for no good reason?" She said, looking offended. 

"It's not like you," Jean said bluntly. 

They were never very close back when in their trainee days and, more often than not, Jean found himself at the butt of her and Connie's jokes. Their pranks were rarely malicious but he could only turn a blind eye so many times before resentment began to build. It was hard to believe that the same Sasha who had delighted in his suffering as a trainee was now on Jean's very short list of people he could trust. 

"You're spacing out worse than yesterday, when we found you in the woods," Sasha said. "You're delirious enough that you might blab everything to Captain Levi if he asks the right question."

"I look that awesome, huh?" Jean laughed dryly, not bothering to deny the accusation. "Thanks, but I'll handle it. I have to talk to Captain Levi anyway. He's still expecting my report on the other day and the longer I wait, the more trouble I'll be in." 

"Uh, sorry to disappoint… but no, he's not."

Jean suddenly remembered Allan's warning about the consequences of waiting too long to report and grimaced. "Please don't tell me that Antonio and Allan did something." 

"I don't know about the other guy… but Antonio did something," Sasha said.

"Do I want to know?" Jean asked himself. "Yeah, I should. Okay, tell me. How did the Bodts make my life more difficult now?"

"Well… you already know that Antonio refused to let Captain Levi wake you up, right?" 

Jean nodded. "I heard he tried to pull rank and Antonio managed to shut him down. How'd he do that?" 

"A lot of nonsense about jurisdiction and official ranks and duties. I dunno, my eyes glazed over and I tuned out half-way through," Sasha said apologetically. "Antonio said… uh. How did he put it? Something about you being assigned to his squad and he'd would be happy to honour the request for information, but the Captain has to go through official channels and make a formal request because... regulations, or something." 

"But I'm not on his squad," Jean exclaimed. "None of us are in squads, except Eren. And, anyway, Antonio's rank isn't anywhere near high enough to command his own squad!" He wouldn't still be wearing that ridiculous outfit if it was.

"That's what Captain Levi said, but one of Garrison's guys butted in and backed up Antonio's claim." Sasha pointed a finger vaguely North. "He was apparently at least Squad Captain, like Hange, before he voluntarily took a hit to his rank when he switched to the Scouting Legion… so it's possible? Maybe? Do ranks work that way?" 

Jean fell silent as a pair of soldiers walked past. He tried to summon the contents of all those lectures on the history of the three militaries, and the developments that led to the current command structure, and memories of boring afternoons spent filing papers in the Trainee Corps office as punishment for instigating fights. There was a long tradition of in-fighting and mutual sabotage as the three branches jockeyed for favourable political positions, according to what he could remember, so poaching talented veteran officers would be nothing new or noteworthy. 

"If Antonio's former Commanding Officer somehow 'forgot' to submit key documents or deliberately didn't fill them out properly," Jean mumbled to himself, "he could theoretically bypass Commander Smith and retrieve his soldier via bureaucratic and legal technicalities." Jean frowned. "It's possible, but really hard to believe. Antonio's been in the Scouting Legion for years! Central can't be that incompetent."

Sasha shrugged. "Captain Levi looked like he bit into a rotten lemon when Garrison said it, so I guess Central can be that bad." 

"I would have heard something if I was assigned to a squad!"

"Then it's a bluff?" Sasha shrugged, unconcerned.

"That would make more sense, but..." Jean shook his head. "I need to find Antonio and find out what the hell was he thinking." 

"You do that. I'll go report in the meantime," Sasha put a hand on Jean's shoulder and shoved him toward the barracks. "Trust me. Captain Levi's as sick of hearing these boring reports as we are of giving them. He won't suspect a thing if I show up instead." 

"…Thanks. I owe you one." 

Sasha waved a hand dismissively. "Say no more! Think of this as payback for all those times you let me sleep through my shift." 

Jean wanted to set the record straight. He didn't do that to be nice; he left her alone because there wasn't a point in making two people suffer when he was already wide awake due to a combination of insomnia and a low tolerance for cold. Jean wasn't a nice person like she was suggesting… but he knew that arguing would be pointless so he just shrugged, accepted the benefits of her misconception, and set out to find Marco's cousin. 

Because Antonio could take his concern and well-intentioned nosiness and shove it somewhere dark and unpleasant. If Jean wanted offend his superior officers and get punished for it, then that was his choice. Jean's mistakes were nobody's responsibility but his own. He didn't need anyone's advice, or pity, or sympathy. If Jean wanted help he would ask for it. 

There was only one person who earned the right to act on Jean's behalf without fear of retribution so far, and his name wasn't "Antonio". Unfortunately, the person Jean trusted above all others had been acting in the opposite way that a true friend should. It suggested that Jean was perhaps wrong to put his faith in him, to trust him with his life. Or maybe it was wrong to doubt him. Maybe Marco really did have Jean's best interests at heart and it only looked like a betrayal because Jean lacked perspective. 

Jean couldn't know what to believe until he managed to corner the freckled nuisance. Marco had a lot to answer for and Jean wasn't going to stop until he found out exactly what was going on. The truth. All of it. There was more going on than a miraculous return from the grave. Marco was genuinely terrified of being discovered by the Science Department. Hange Zoe's experiments on Titan and Shifter bodies were probably a factor, yes, but the thing that drove Marco to run like his life depended on it wasn't as simple as fear or squeamishness about being cut open. 

If Jean had to guess, it seemed like Marco thought the Scouting Legion's Research Division would do something specific. 

It was as if Marco had a very concrete idea of what was in store if they caught him and wanted to avoid it at all costs. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty awful if Marco was willing to risk losing what was left of Jean's trust by running away like that. Faking his death, having his best friend to discover the "corpse", then leaving him to suffer from months of guilt-fuelled nightmares before reappearing suddenly as if nothing happened? Then acting like everything would go back the way it was when they were both just Trainees? Only an idiot, or the kindest and most gullible person in the world, would forgive someone willing treat his "best friend" like that. 

And Marco knew that. 

He knew that Jean was someone who didn't trust easily and was perfectly capable of nursing grudges for years. Marco knew there was a good chance that yesterday would be the only opportunity he would ever get to patch things up and he still decided to leave without answering any questions. Jean was fully prepared to throw what was left of their friendship back in Marco's face. He was ready do everything in his power to put the full wrath of the Scouting Legion on Marco's trail, but then… well. 

Then Marco just had to go and ruin Jean's perfectly justified bad mood by apologizing, didn't he? 

The jerk apologized, and honestly meant it, and he looked so goddamned guilty and scared that Jean started wondering. He wondered if Marco was also stupid enough to get mixed up in something way bigger than him. That terror (a lingering sense of loyalty to the memory of their friendship) was the only reason Jean was still willing to give Marco the benefit of the doubt. Jean was ignoring his better judgement and covering up Marco's mistakes by lying to "Humanity's Strongest Soldier" and the freckled asshole had better have one hell of a "thank you" reward prepared because if he didn't…

"Is this a bad time?" A familiar accented voice said hesitantly, "because I can come back later." 

Jean spun to face the dark-haired boy standing in the shadow of a utility shed, fidgeting nervously. Jean began to smile in greeting out of some sort of conditioned reflex before he remembered, came back to his senses, and scowled. Amber-brown eyes narrowed and Marco's face and gaze dropped. The hesitant smile faded away, morphing into grim resignation. His feet shuffled in the dirt. Marco's eyes flickered up for a second, just long enough to realize that Jean was still glaring, before they darted away to focus on something in the distance. Restless hands began picking at the loose ends of his shirt and Jean noticed, much to his amusement, that Marco took the criticism of his "Antonio" disguise to heart. Gone were the ridiculously colourful layers and in their place were clothes that blended in perfectly with the civilian contractors: dark pants, black shoes, a white button-up shirt and—

"Is that my vest?" Jean squinted.

"No." Marco stated firmly. "It's mine." 

Marco gripped the collar tightly. Then he hunched over, and glared, acting as if he was genuinely worried that Jean would rip all of his clothes off to check the labels. It took all of Jean's willpower to not burst into laughter at the scandalized expression. 

"Relax, man. I believe you." Jean put a hand on the tense shoulder and leaned in. "Even though, you know, I'm the one who packed up your belongings to send back to Jinae. All of your casual clothes were accounted for… but, whatever." Jean shrugged, stuck his hands into his pockets, and leaned back. "I guess I made a mistake." He grinned. "On an unrelated note, I have many clothes and I'm sure I won't miss one vest." 

"That's nice," Marco said warily, "because this isn't one yours. But I'm sure yours will turn up eventually."

"Like, let's say… tomorrow?" Jean cocked his head to one side. "Or perhaps in the next day or so?"

Marco shook his head slightly. "The nights have been pretty cold lately, as I'm sure you noticed, so whoever took your vest will probably need to hang onto it for a while." 

Jean remembered how rapidly the temperature dropped after dark – it was a brutal, damp cold that sank straight through the fabric and into his bones and muscles. It felt like he was in danger of losing his fingers every night they were stuck in that ditch, even though he was in full gear with additional layers underneath. Not even Marco's naturally high body temperature would be able to ward off the chill if these were the only clothes he had. 

"I have a sweater I wouldn't miss if you want to borrow it," Jean blurted. 

"That's—" Marco ducked his head to hide his expression. "It's very kind of you to offer, but it's okay. I'll manage." The smile was clearly audible when he mumbled "thank you", but when he looked up, there was no trace of it. 

Jean frowned. 

"Wh-what?" 

"You know..." Jean spoke slowly and carefully, like he was talking to an exceptionally stupid child. "When you said 'I'll see you around', I assumed it meant that we'd bump into each other a few weeks later. Accidentally. Or on purpose, if I got into serious trouble." He crossed his arms. "I didn't think you actually meant exactly that: I'll see you later TODAY."

"Oh. Um…" Marco floundered for a second before he smiled and pointed up at the ever-brightening sky. "The sun has already risen so technically it was 'I'll see you tomorrow'."

Jean groaned. "Seriously? Marco, you are the worst spy in history."

"Now that's just rude." 

"It's the truth," Jean retorted. "Or do you have something to say in your defense?"

Marco stood up straight, back and shoulders rigid with indignation, and frowned down at Jean. 

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe I'm not bothering to hide anymore?" Marco said, "I know what you're like when something catches your interest. Trying to trick you into thinking I was just a very vivid hallucination would only encourage you to pry into things better left alone." He sighed loudly. "For goodness' sake, Jean, you got focused on smoking me out hiding that you blinded yourself to everything else! I had to do something before you got yourself, or me, killed!"

"Hey! Keep it down, will ya?" Jean hissed as he looked around nervously. "We're standing right next to the barracks and right now it's filled with people who can identify your voice immediately." 

Marco's eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth. He nodded. 

"It's a little late for that," Jean said wearily. 

"…'m sorry," Marco whispered. "Do you… do you think anyone heard me?"

"I don't know." Jean scrubbed a hand through his hair and gripped it, trying to use the pain to focus on something other than the bone-deep exhaustion. "Maybe if we're lucky, they'll think they heard a ghost?" He laughed dryly. "You coming back from the grave just to yell at me isn't that farfetched, after all…"

"For what it's worth, dying in Trost was not the plan," Marco said quietly. "I'll understand if you don't believe me."

"I wish I could say 'all is forgiven' but I can't." Jean shook his head. 

"…Okay." 

All of the fire and animation drained out of the dark-haired boy like water from a sink. Marco's head bowed in resigned acceptance of trust broken beyond repair and he mumbled an indistinct apology. Then he walked away. Jean's heart stuttered. Seized by sudden panic – did Marco consider the non-acceptance of his apology as an ultimatum, severing their connection, instead of what really was: a request for an explanation? – Jean lunged. 

Marco stumbled from the sudden impact. He looked down at the arms wrapped tightly around his waist, brows furrowed in confusion like he wasn't sure how they got there, and tried to pull free. He gave up after a couple token efforts and sighed "Jean" in a weary tone that spoke volumes. "Let go."

"No," he said. 

"I wasn't leaving, you paranoid idiot, I was going to sit down because standing this long is exhausting." Marco jabbed Jean's injured arm with a finger. "And I haven't fully regenerated yet. If you ruptured something and undid months of hard work…" He growled, "I will make you remove the parts you damaged with your bare hands and a knife. I don't care if it makes your nightmares worse. I'll deal with that later."

Jean immediately let go and retreated several steps. The thought of seeing Marco's blood on his hands again made his stomach turn. "Hey, Shifters still feel pain, right? What if I screw up and make it worse? You couldn't possibly want that to happen."

"A small sacrifice to make for the sake of teaching you that there are consequences when you don't conduct yourself properly around the injured." 

Marco walked over to the far side of the utility shed, a blind-spot where he'd be hidden from causal observation from the barracks' windows and the courtyard, and sank down on the ground with a grunt of pain. He stared flatly at Jean until the younger boy got the unspoken message and jolted into motion. Jean hesitated before sitting down on the left and Marco immediately leaned against him, trying to take as much pressure off the damaged side as possible. 

Jean tried to summon up feelings of disgust or indignation at the way Marco just assumed that he was still welcome to invade Jean's personal space like this and make demands… but he couldn't. Having Marco at his side, someone who should be nothing more than ashes and a fond memory but wasn't, it felt more like a return to normalcy than anything. The only thing Jean found genuinely disconcerting was how easily they fell back into old patterns without missing a beat. Like the disaster in Trost never happened, or it was nothing more than an odd footnote in the annals of their friendship. It was a small comfort that Marco was just as troubled by his inability to remember that they weren't necessarily on the same side anymore. 

"So," Jean addressed his hands conversationally after a long silence, "I don't know about you… but I've completely lost track of who's supposed to be mad at who." 

"Yeah," Marco laughed softly. "But I'm too tired to have this conversation right now. Wake me up in an hour and then we'll talk."

"Uh, I don't think that's such a great idea." Jean looked over. "What if someone comes over here? You're supposed to be dead, and—hey, Marco? Are you listening to me?" 

"It's fine," Marco assured him. "I've been studying the patrol routes and nobody ever comes over here except you and the gardener, and he was killed during the Scouting Legion's last big operation and hasn't been replaced yet. That leaves only you and me." Marco's eyes slid shut. "One hour is all I'm asking for." 

"And what if I want answers now?" Jean said.

"Then I hope you're ready to learn internal surgery the hard way." Marco's eyes slid open a crack. He yielded after a second and asked, "or is there somewhere more important you have to be?"

Jean shook his head. "One hour was it? That's fine." 

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems like a good place to stop. 
> 
> Also, while I was writing this chapter, I discovered that a guilty Marco is an eager-to-please Marco that was willing to do whatever Jean asked. I lost count of the number of times I had to restart...


	11. Chapter 11

Jean watched the slow march of the building's shadow across the ground and thought about how numb his arm was getting. The one hour grace period had long expired but Marco was still asleep because Jean was a soft-hearted coward. Jean's first attempt to wake him was met with a swat and a whiny grumble in that weird language Marco had spoken back in the hunter's cabin. Jean didn't bother trying to wake him a second time because he looked too closely at Marco's face. He noticed the dark smudges underneath Marco's eyes that were almost completely concealed by the scar tissue, saw the unhealthy pallor of Marco's skin, and recognized a multitude of other things that pointed straight at chronic insomnia. 

Getting answers wasn't that urgent, Jean decided, sympathetic to his suffering. Jean already spent years ignorant of his friend's true nature so waiting a little longer wouldn't make much of a difference. That was what he thought several hours ago. Now, Jean was trying to convince himself that the risk of discovery was completely negligible, really, so what was the problem with taking a short nap himself?

Being caught with someone who was supposed to be dead, that's what. 

Jean glared over at Marco, deeply annoyed at how soundly the guy was sleeping, when he realized with a jolt that sound of Marco's breathing was different. Marco was awake; he probably had been awake for quite some time. Jean found himself wondering why Marco would pretend to be asleep for so long. There was nothing to gain from eavesdropping on someone staring at the sky for hours, after all. Was Marco up to something? Trying to lull Jean into boredom-induced complacency perhaps? No, that didn't seem like him. The real answer was probably something ridiculously dull, like: Marco really didn't have anything better to do today and Jean was still his go-to solution for entertainment, or Marco was overly optimistic and thought he could restore their friendship with enough time leftover to catch up on his sleep, or (most likely) Marco pushed his still-healing body too far and it forced him to take a nap against his will. There was only one way to find out which theory was right.

"Hey." 

Jean poked Marco in the gut. Nothing.

"Hey, I said. I know you're awake."

Marco's lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, so brief it could have been imagined, but otherwise gave no reaction. So Jean prodded hard enough to make him flinch.

"Get up already, lazy, I lost all feeling in my arm." 

Marco grumbled something under his breath and slowly lifted his head from Jean's shoulder. He scrubbed a hand over his face, yawned, then opened his eyes. Marco recoiled from the unexpected brightness assaulting his eyes and then, with a high-pitched noise of protest, he shamelessly buried his face in the space between Jean's neck and shoulder. 

"Oh, give me a break. It's not that bright." 

Jean tugged on the collar of Marco's shirt, trying to convince the guy to let go, but it only had the opposite effect. Marco clutched Jean's jacket in a white-knuckled grip and pressed even closer. Uncomfortably close. Jean couldn't decide if it was accidental or if he was doing it on purpose because embarrassing Jean was, apparently, the most entertaining thing ever. 

Marco groaned weakly. 

Jean pretended that he couldn't feel the lingering heat of Marco's breath on his skin, or the slight dampness left behind by Marco's lips where they touched Jean's neck, forming shape of the words that went unvoiced. The grip on his jacket relaxed. Jean could feel the feather-light touch of Marco's fingertips as they trailed down, following the line of buttons before his hand slid away to rest in his lap. Jean's traitorous heart raced. He scowled. Jean gave himself a firm mental shake and reminded himself just who he was dealing with. This was Marco. Marco, the guy who frequently invaded Jean's personal space for no reason at all. Made a habit of it. There was nothing to read into because Marco was just being Marco.

"How long was I out?" the freckled nuisance mumbled. 

"Two, maybe three hours?" Jean said with an overly casual shrug. "And before you get mad, let me say this first: I know what sleep deprivation looks and feels like. Trust me, you really needed the extra sleep." 

"Maybe," Marco sighed, "but you still should have woken me up when I asked. What if I had something important to do and you made me miss it?"

Jean scoffed. 

Marco dragged himself upright, suddenly aware of the growing awkwardness, and leaned away. "You don't believe me? Why not?" He paused, then said "give me one good reason." 

"You fell asleep on me," Jean said dryly. "For hours." 

Marco quickly averted his eyes. "A reason other than that." 

"Okay. Then how about this? You made me keep watch. Me." Jean tapped his chest for emphasis. "The guy who has more reasons than anyone else to hate your guts and sell you out at the first opportunity. And you're—" Jean poked Marco in the chest "—not an idiot. You wouldn't risk other people's lives for mere sentiment. You're not stupid enough to assume that I'd still be willing to stick my neck out and protect you, just because we used to be best friends. Not without proof that I'm still trustworthy… which is why, I'm assuming, that you're talking to me now."

Marco bit his lip. He hesitated with eyes downcast, then mumbled "you haven't sold me out yet" in a small voice that rose slightly at the end. 

A question. Questioning. Marco was doubting him. His integrity. Their friendship. For very good reasons, sure. Marco had just as much cause to be wary and suspicious as he did but knowing didn't ease the sting. 

Jean, furious for reasons he couldn't even begin to articulate, growled "I haven't."

"…No?" 

"No." Jean crossed his arms and glared when Marco finally worked up the nerve to look him in the eye. "But whether or not I'm going to keep covering up your messes depends entirely on you and what you say next. So let's hear it. What's your excuse?" 

"Well, I… wait. 'Keep'? What do you mean by—" Marco's eyes narrowed. "Jean…" His voice took on a note of wary suspicion and he intoned "What did you do?" 

Jean jolted back, cursing under his breath at the slip, and said "Nothing! I did nothing you need to worry about." That was quite probably the worst lie he ever told in his life, so it was no surprise that Marco didn't believe it. 

"Jean. Tell me." 

"No. It's got nothing to do with you." Moments after the words left his mouth, Jean wanted to slap himself. "I mean… I don't know what I mean. Anyway, not your concern. Drop it. And stop changing the subject! We're supposed to be talking about you." 

"No," Marco said patiently, refusing to let himself get distracted. "I'm pretty sure what you did has everything to do with me. If I wasn't careful enough and you felt compelled to act, to cover up my mistakes, then I share a portion of the blame for creating the situation. I know what I did wrong so, Jean, tell me." Marco crossed his arms. "What did you do?"

Jean mumbled something and stared down at his hands. 

Marco's brows furrowed. "Pardon? I didn't catch any of that."

"I said: I've been lying to Captain Levi," Jean snapped. "I looked him in the eye, and I lied." Jean wondered if telling Marco would turn out to be a terrible mistake. He swallowed hard, nearly choking on his nerves, and continued. "The executive officers suspect that I'm hiding something." His hands tightened into fists to hide the tremors. "Captain Levi probably hasn't found anything solid to pin on me yet but I'm sure it's only a matter of time until someone does."

"…who?" 

"You're joking, right?" Jean blinked, stunned by Marco's expression. "You're… not joking. Seriously?! You don't know who Captain Levi is?" 

"No. Should I?" Marco turned pink, embarrassed at the lack of knowledge, when Jean nodded emphatically. "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't." He huffed defensively. "As you know, I was aiming for the Military Police or, failing that, Garrison, so I never paid attention to the rank-and-file Scouting Legion personnel and— Hey. Stop that." He frowned and pointed a finger at Jean. "Don't you look at me with those eyes filled with pity. Most people couldn't even name the current Commanders!" 

Jean shook his head. "I'm not pitying you, I feel bad for Eren." 

"Oh?" Marco's eyes widened with surprise. 

"Yeah, poor guy." Jean sighed theatrically. "He talked our ears off about the wondrous Scouting Legion, and all the good they accomplish for humanity, and the astonishing kill counts of their star members, and how Captain Levi was better than them all, and blah blah blah…" Jean waved a hand. "On and on he'd go because you always looked like you were paying attention. Interested, even, in his recruitment speeches. Who would've guessed that you were just pretending to listen?" Jean clapped a hand on Marco's shoulder and smiled. "And this is why we're still friends. I taught you well."

"But I did listen," Marco protested, "I just didn't make it a point to commit everything he said to memory." 

"Uh huh. Right. In other words, you mentally checked-out the moment the Scouting Legion came up in conversation." Jean shook his head. "It's a wonder you even thought to look for me here, oh willfully ignorant one, but hold on a minute here. Could it be…?" Jean's lips curved into an obnoxiously smug grin. "Was our reunion actually a fluke?" 

Marco frowned, clearly annoyed, and snapped "Pick one: I answer this, or I tell you what happened after we got separated in Trost. I will only answer one question. If you try to trick me into answering both, I'll answer neither, so choose wisely." 

Jean knew he went too far but rather than apologize, he rolled his eyes and said "Spoilsport."

"Well?" Marco crossed his arms. "Out with it." 

"Trost," Jean said. He was pretty sure that finding out what happened there would naturally lead to answers about their unexpected reunion. And if not, well, he'd just have to wait until Marco was in a better (and chattier) mood before trying again. 

Marco sighed. "What did I just say about trying to trick me?" 

"If you figured it out this quickly, it doesn't count as a trick." Jean said lightly, but then his face turned serious. "And besides… you owe me. You owe me all the answers I want with no strings attached."

Suddenly nervous, Marco tried to interrupt, but Jean continued relentlessly. 

"You owe me," Jean repeated, "because I'm the one who had to identify your body. I'm the one who carried your half-eaten, rotting carcass to the wagon. I'm the one who had to clear out your bunk and pack up all your personal belongings to be shipped back to your family in Jinae because there was nothing else to send. Oh, and let's not forget that it's all thanks to you," he hissed, "that I haven't had a full night's sleep since that day because I can't stop seeing your corpse—" he shoved Marco "—in my nightmares. Every fucking night. I close my eyes and bam! There it is."

Marco's face twisted with guilt. "Jean," he choked out, "I didn't know. I'm sor—" 

"You know? I kept thinking maybe there was something I could've done different. That maybe if I tried a little harder, fought a little better, it'd be okay but, nope, I'm just that unlucky." He laughed humourlessly. "No matter what I did, it was always the same in the end: you would die and I'd be left to pick up the pieces. But now? Now I find out that I went through all that for nothing. So tell me, Marco," Jean sneered in a sickly sweet mockery of his voice, "what did you do?"

"I'm— That was— I…" Marco swallowed hard. "I am so sorry. I should have told you sooner that… that I—" His words cut off. He wrung his hands and bowed his head, shaking slightly. He took a deep breath and tried again but his words were just as unsteady as before. "I'm a Titan." 

Jean rolled his eyes. "No shit. I figured that part out already, dumbass. Tell me something I don't know." 

"Um, no, you called me a…" Marco decided that now was not the time to argue semantics and shrugged. "Nevermind," he sighed, "that's close enough." 

Jean recognized that sigh. It was the sound of frustration and defeat that the more intellectually-inclined among them often gave when they decided that it wasn't worth the effort to educate their misinformed peers. It meant there was something significant, some critical detail that Jean was misunderstanding.

"Aren't you a Shifter?" Jean asked curiously. 

"Titan."

"They're not the same thing?" Jean frowned and crossed his arms. "Is this one of those 'all X are Y, but not all Y are X' logic puzzle things?" 

"Um… I guess? Anyway, don't worry about it. 'Shifter' is close enough." Marco's hand cut through the air and dismissed the topic. 

"But…" 

Jean's voice trailed off. On his face was an expression that was a curious mix of wary and resigned. Jean sighed and forced himself to sit up straighter, like he was preparing to listen to an overly long lecture in class. Marco had to cover his mouth to hide his smile. He was sure now that Jean made the mistake of asking one of Hange Zoe's crew about their research and found himself trapped in a one-sided conversation for hours. Jean was probably afraid that asking Marco for an explanation would result in more of the same but he was going to pose the question anyway. Why? Probably because Jean could see that Marco really was bothered by the inaccuracy. 

"Stop. It's okay," Marco assured him, "You don't have to ask because I don't have permission to go into any sort of detail. Not yet, anyway, but I'm working on it. I promise."

Jean nodded enthusiastically, not even bothering to hide his relief at being able to avoid this line of questioning.

"Hmm. Should I be insulted or flattered that you don't actually care what I am?" Marco mused. "And after making such a fuss about me not telling you anything, too." He smiled and said teasingly, "Jean, you must be the world's worst interrogator." 

"That's fine with me. I don't have the stomach for that sort of thing." Jean said. "But what about you? Stealing other people's property, sneaking around and impersonating officers… You're like some sort of criminal now. I didn't think you had it in you. Your family will be shocked. Shocked and appalled."

"First of all, that wasn't stealing," Marco said primly. "Garrison already reported that stuff as lost or damaged, so salvage laws apply. It just so happens that we got there before you guys did. Secondly, Tony's not officer rank in the Scouting Legion so I'm technically not guilty of that either. As for the sneaking around… it's frowned upon but there's no written rule prohibiting it. I checked. Ergo, I'm not a criminal; I'm a law-abiding citizen who's acting suspiciously." 

"You have an answer for everything, huh?" Jean leaned back, vaguely impressed. "Okay, then tell me just what happened to you in Trost." 

"I miscalculated." Marco paused to see if Jean would interrupt before elaborating. "I left my squad behind so they could defend one of the resupply points because the logistics division soldiers were… well, you know." Marco smiled wryly. "They were a mess. Some of their soldiers deserted and their squad leader was scrambling to put together a defense with less than a handful of guys, so I handed over command of my squad to Logistics. I figured that their leader was better suited to leading a defensive battle than me. I did stick around long enough to make sure he had things under control before heading out by myself, though. I remembered seeing another squad fighting nearby and decided to join up with them because I'd do more good out, fighting, than I would sitting around in a building with a gun." 

Marco's hands, which had been resting loosely in his lap, slowly clenched into fists. A muscle in his jaw jumped. He stared off into the distance with a stony and unreadable expression. 

"I got ambushed," he said in a flat and emotionless voice. "I didn't see who got me." 

Marco eyes slid shut and his face contorted with pain. "Jean. I'm sorry I was so careless. I am sorry that you were the one to find me. I really can't apologize enough for what happened, or the stupid choices I made afterwards, but— trust me. I don't know why my body in that state. I do have some guesses, though…" 

"Yeah?" Jean prompted. 

Marco shook his head. "This part is my problem. I have my battles to fight and you have yours, so, please." He took Jean's hands in his, stared into narrowed amber-brown eyes, and begged for understanding. "Please let this one thing go."

Jean scowled down at their joined hands and said, "on one condition."

"What is it?"

"From now on, you keep me in the loop." Jean glared when Marco opened his mouth to protest. "No more acting on your own. Promise me."

"But I can't—" 

"I'm not asking for all the details," Jean interrupted. "I wouldn't want to get stuck sitting here helpless to do anything but worry about the flaws in your mission plans. I have enough on my plate as it is. And telling me is just asking for trouble. After all," he said with false cheer, "Captain Levi and the others can torture me all they want but I can't tell what I don't know." Jean cleared his throat. "All I'm really asking for is that if you need to disappear for a few days, or get into trouble, or whatever… you tell me."

"Um. Jean? This… this kinda sounds like…" 

Marco's voice was timid and hesitant, barely above a whisper, but his eyes were bright. Hopeful. Jean looked away. He gave a loud and frustrated sigh as he combed his fingers through his hair. This was a bad idea. Every bit of good sense was telling him that that he was making a mistake but, it seemed, Jean's impulsive side was going to win this time. 

"Yeah," Jean groaned, defeated. "I'm going to help you." 

Marco's face lit up with a brilliant smile. "Really?!"

"Shh! Keep it down," Jean hissed, covering his mouth while staring at the barracks' windows anxiously. 

"You're really going to help?" Marco clutched Jean's hand in an almost painfully tight grip. "Really? No kidding? Even though I'm a Titan? You still want to be b— on my side?"

"Don't get so excited," Jean grunted sourly, "I didn't say that I trust you or that I forgive you." 

"Oh." Marco's smile dimmed. "Okay. That's fair." 

"It… is?" 

Marco nodded. "It wouldn't be right to let things go right back the way they used to be. I do have a lot to answer for, after all." The smile turned self-deprecating. "To tell the truth? I expected today to end with broken bones and you screaming at me to get out of your life and the R&D division waiting to capture me. I even told the others to leave without me." 

"Huh." Jean's eyes settled on Marco's clothes. "So that's why you're wearing that? If I lost my temper and sold you out, then you'd get payback by making me ruin my favourite vest by getting your blood all over it? Sneaky."

"Um, no, actually…" Marco said slowly, "I'm wearing it because it's cold and I couldn't find mine. Now I know why." 

"That's boring. I like my theory better." Jean said. 

"It's completely wrong, though." Marco pointed out calmly. "Even if that was the plan, my blood would evaporate and leave nothing behind. …Eventually." 

Jean thought back to the two-day-old pool of congealed blood that he found Marco's body in, and the various experiments run on Eren that Hange Zoe forced them all to participate in because she was perpetually short on trustworthy assistants. The blood of Eren's Titan-self disappeared almost instantly whereas the blood spilled by his human-self stuck around like… well, like human blood. Was there something different about Marco's blood? There had to be. Marco wouldn't insist on being referred to as 'Titan' rather than 'Shifter' unless there was a reason to make the distinction. 

Interesting. What other secrets was Marco hiding? 

"There's one more thing," Jean mumbled, lost in thought. 

"Yes?"

"Your body is really hot. I- I meant to say, can you even feel the cold?" Jean's face began to turn red as he rushed to explain. "Other than the chronic blanket-stealing, you always did stuff like forget to wear a jacket in the winter so, I figure, you've gotta have a higher than normal body temperature. Otherwise you've been bitching as much as the rest of us but you never did. Titan-related? Or just you?" 

"Oh, Jean, you flatterer." Marco laughed and reached out to ruffle his hair. "First you said you like my butt, then you said I'm smart and considerate, and now you say you find me attractive?" He smiled indulgently. "Honestly… if I didn't know better, I'd think that you were hitting on me." 

"Uh," Jean said intelligently. 

"Don't worry. I know, I know." Marco patted Jean's hand. "You're just trying to earn some extra brownie points because you did something that you KNOW will upset me when I find out, right?" 

"Er… wow. Nothing gets by you." Jean scratched the back of his neck and flashed a lop-sided grin. "I'm impressed. You can see right through me. You're amazing."

"Laying it on a little too thick there," Marco laughed, "but thank you. Now, seriously, what did you do?" 

"Again?!" Jean groaned and stood. "You know what? Fuck this. I've been awake for over 48 hours and I'm going to bed. You—" he pointed threateningly "—are not allowed to come with me." 

"I wouldn't dream of it," Marco said mildly. He climbed to his feet with a little difficulty and brushed the grass from his pants. "So… were you serious about wanting to help me?"

Jean shifted his weight and sighed, "yeah… guess I am."

"Are you sure? This is your last chance to back out," Marco warned. "Let me be perfectly clear: you're taking a leap of faith here. I can't guarantee anything – not your safety, or that what we're doing will benefit humanity. Nothing. Do you still want to help?" 

"I said it was fine," Jean snapped. "I keep my word." 

"I just wanted to be sure that you understood." Marco held up his hands and backed away. "I won't ask again." 

"Good. See that you don't." 

"I really don't to leave while you're in a bad mood, but you need sleep. And me? I need to get going," Marco sighed. "I'll see you around?"

"I'd better. If not, consequences be damned, I'm going to tell enough people to form a search party and we're coming after you," Jean threatened. "Got it?" 

"Y-yeah. Got it." Marco nodded quickly. "I'll keep in touch. You be careful too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once these two start talking, it's really hard to shut them up... and keep them on-topic.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **ETA** (Nov 27): The chapter is now edited/rewritten because all those clunky scene transitions were really bugging me to the point of distraction. And now, back to working on the next chapter.

Immediately following their conversation, Marco disappeared without a trace and cut off all communication. Jean didn't worry about the silence at first because he assumed that Marco needed to catch up with his allies to tell them the good news: that he successfully suckered Jean into aligning himself with an enigmatic group of Titans with no clear motive or mission. Marco was probably overjoyed that his secret was uncovered by the most gullible idiot in the world who, luckily, also happened to be his closest friend. His soft-hearted and soft-headed idiot of a friend. Because who else but an idiot would do such a thing?

Jean was betting everything on a stupidly sentimental hunch. He was gambling with not only his life, but that of everyone in the Scouting Legion and for what reason? Because Jean was pretty sure that Marco also missed what they used to have back in simpler days, back when they were just two trainees aiming to reach the top together. Marco would stay on his best behaviour because acting otherwise would jeopardize his chances of making amends and recapturing their former closeness. 

It was a childish sentiment. It was naïve to harbour such thoughts. He really should know better but, despite the constant screeching of his rational side, Jean's faith in Marco remained unshaken. He actually believed the freckled nuisance when he promised to stop lying. Marco said that he'd stay in contact and stop making people worry unnecessarily and Jean decided to trust him and follow his lead. 

Jean kept his mouth shut and his head down and proceeded to do everything in his power to keep from drawing further attention to himself because Marco asked him to keep out of trouble. So he did. It wasn't until Jean realized (with an unpleasant jolt) that over a week managed to pass by without notice and Marco still had not contacted him. Jean kept trying to rationalize the lack of communication but as time continued to slip by and as the silence continued to build, it became increasingly harder to hold onto his blind optimism. 

Between the nightmares and the silence, it wasn't long before Jean began to think that he was played for a fool. 

Jean wondered if Marco had any intention of upholding his end of the bargain. What if Marco only approached him to find out what he knew and what he saw in the woods? The moment that Marco confirmed that he wasn't a threat to them or their plans, there would be no reason to continue this farcical friendship built on lies. Marco was now free to disappear from Jean's life again. There was nothing stopping him from throwing Jean's life into complete disarray for a second time. And if he decided to take offence to being used and thrown away, what could Jean do to hurt them? 

Nothing, that's what.

Nobody would believe him if he tried to expose the existence of Marco's group. Marco's death was documented every step of the way, from discovery to transport to the pyre, and all Jean had to counter that was his word. The word of a kid suffering from survivor's guilt who also had a reputation for being a shit-stirring troublemaker, versus a whole body of concrete evidence that could be verified by multiple third parties? Nobody in their right mind would take him seriously. All Jean would succeed in doing would be to undermine the minuscule amount of respect he managed to garner from returning alive from two disastrous missions. 

So it was with great reluctance that Jean decided to keep quiet. It became less about protecting Marco from the Hange Zoe and the Scouting Legion and more about getting off the senior officers' radar. All Jean really wanted was to live a quiet and comfortable and uneventful life to a ripe old age and getting involved with a miraculously still alive Marco and all of the associated problems was absolutely not the way to do it. 

There were times when turning his back on Marco seemed to make perfect sense and yet, despite knowing that he would probably let Jean walk away without a fight, Jean found himself unable to do so. 

Instead, Jean wavered between missing the freckled nuisance terribly and wondering if he was okay and hating himself for being paranoid and lacking faith… and cursing Marco for smashing apart the fragile beginnings of the life that Jean started to build without him. The indecisiveness wore on him. It exhausted what little reserves of patience he had and it chipped away at the thin veneer of composure that Jean was already struggling to maintain. 

The silence that he once cherished as a welcome break from being forced into the company of others for hours and days on end held increasingly little appeal and Jean found himself driven from his usual haunts. He worried that the increasingly pessimistic thoughts were being amplified by the solitude and swiftly took to spending his free time at a table in the Scouting Legion's main dining room. He could always count on the presence of at least one squad there due to a staggered schedule for meal times and breaks to prevent overwhelming the handful of cooks on staff. Locating him during off-duty hours was once a chore but thanks to the newfound predictability, Sasha was able to pass along information in a far less conspicuous manner. 

"Hey there, grumpy." Sasha said around a mouthful of bread. 

Sasha slid into the seat across from Jean and pushed the second of the trays she held across the table. What she was offering was, apparently, dinner. It consisted of a bowl filled with a thick greenish-brown liquid that had questionable lumps of plant matter floating in it and a decently sized still-warm bread roll sitting on the side. The roll on Jean's tray had a large chunk torn out of it. The one on Sasha's was whole. 

Jean looked up at her and said dryly, "Thanks, but I already ate." 

"Just so you know… the ingredients aren't rotten today." Sasha bravely ate a spoonful to prove her point but she immediately wrinkled her nose and gagged. "Ugh!" She glared at the soup as if it personally offended her. "The cooks just managed to completely screw up the recipe and ended up with something that looks and tastes like it is." She shrugged and stirred in some water from her mug to dilute it. "But, hey, at least it's edible…ish." 

"Great." Jean eyed the bowl suspiciously and made no move to touch it. "Still. I'll pass." 

"You have to eat!" Sasha slammed her hands down on the table, eyes flashing, and leaned across the table. "You'll be no good to anyone if you pass out from starvation. Don't be so picky!"

Jean leaned back in his chair and glanced away. Sasha didn't talk much about her life before enlisting but given how fixated she was on food, she probably had personal experience with famine and starvation and as the daughter of a hunter and an rather skilled one herself, it was highly probable that Sasha had also been responsible for keeping people fed. She probably had to make some hard decisions about who to feed and who to let die and, as Jean knew all too well, that sort of thing could haunt a person.

Jean sighed inwardly and said "I eat." 

"Oh yeah? Connie says that he's been eating most of your meals for you." Sasha sat down and crossed her arms. "What do you have to say now?

"Well…" Jean scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed, and stared at the pitted surface of the table. "You remember back when we were trainees and mail time came around?" His voice dropped to a mumble. "I, uh, still get those care packages filled with edible things. I told 'em to, you know, quit it already but you know how moms can get. So…" Jean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I do eat. It's just not the food that the Scouting Legion provides." 

Sasha's eyes widened as she remembered some of the meals that Mrs. Kirstein used to send over and she leaned forward eagerly. "Can I have some?" 

"No." Jean glared and refused to yield to the pitiful, begging eyes that Sasha turned on him.

"Please?" Sasha begged shamelessly. "Just a little? I'd be happy with what you couldn't finish, even."

"I said no!" Jean hoped that Sasha wouldn't sneak off to search his room for leftovers the second his back was turned. Maybe changing the subject would distract her enough to make her forget. "Anyway, what did you come over here for? Did you find out anything new?" 

"Nope." Sasha sighed loudly and slouched in her chair. "It's quiet everywhere and I don't like it. It's weird." She prodded the soup with her bread and frowned. "Garrison's still out there looking for the Aberrants but it looks like we've given up already." 

Dread began to curl its icy fingers around his chest. Jean couldn't shake the feeling that he and Sasha accidentally discovered things that were better off left unknown – damaging things that certain parties would go to any length to keep hidden. Jean glanced around at the nearby tables and dropped his voice low enough that it was almost inaudible over the ambient noise. Sasha had to lean forward and strain her ears to hear his words.

Jean whispered, "Is it because we lied about what happened out there? Did the Scouting Legion stop looking in the woods because they know we have the information they want?"

"Don't think so." Sasha shook her head slowly. "Remember? We're not the only ones who lied to Captain Levi that night."

"The patrol." Jean's expression darkened. "That's right, I almost forgot about them. Why did they lie about the number of Titans?" 

"I was hoping that you knew," Sasha said. 

"I wish I did." 

"Well, whatever the reason, the pair you rescued said there were only two Titans out there so that's the story I'm using too. Seems safer that way, you know?" She scraped up the last of the soup and pushed her tray aside. "So what about you? How'd that new theory of yours pan out?" 

Jean turned to stare at the streaks left by the rain in the caked on dirt and dust on the windows. 

"I'm not sure what to tell you," he said, because telling the truth would only make him look crazy. Crazier, rather, because Sasha was already worried about his mental stability before he started asking about corpses. 

"Try anyway?" Sasha said.

"I thought I knew what was going on." Jean groaned and rubbed a tired hand over his face. "Now I don't know what to think." 

Sasha was quick to take advantage of Jean's distraction and started reaching across the table. Unfortunately for her, she wasn't nearly as stealthy as she imagined herself to be. Jean saw movement out of the corner of his eyes and snatched up the roll just as her fingers brushed the surface of it. He shoved it into his mouth, whole, forcing her to settle for stealing the unappetizing soup. Sasha eyed the bread that Jean was trying very hard to not to choke on before giving up on it with a gusty sigh.

"Then don't think," she said bluntly. "Go with your gut. After all, Marco always said that your instincts were sharper than your wits." 

Jean's eyes narrowed. "Oh he did, did he?" 

"I- I don't think he meant it as an insult!" Sasha waved her hands in denial, alarmed at how quickly Jean's mood was souring, and blurted out, "He just said that you get in your own way by getting all gloomy and mopey and over-thinking things!" 

Jean decided to take mercy on Sasha and change the subject. It wasn't like she was the one insulting him, after all, she was just parroting back Marco's words. Punching her would serve no purpose. 

"Have you spoken to Eren or Armin lately? They might know what the bosses are up to."

Sasha eagerly seized the topic change and shook her head emphatically. "I did, but they had nothing new to share when I talked to them." 

"What did they say?" Jean asked, because what they didn't say could be just as revealing.

"Eren was so happy to get a break from Captain Levi's surveillance and Hange's experiments that he didn't have anything to say that wasn't basically 'Yay! Privacy!'" Sasha threw her hands up in the air in mock joy. "He didn't care why. Mikasa's thrilled to have him around all the time again. Armin too, but…" Sasha made a face. "I dunno. He didn't seem as happy as Mikasa? It seemed like something was bugging him." 

Jean frowned. 

Eren and Mikasa and Armin were basically a set during their trainee days and, according to rumour, they were also that way throughout their shared childhood. The trio weren't always seen together as Trainees but they were always aware where the other two were. He heard that Eren's isolation in Captain Levi's personal unit was the first time they were separated for a significant amount of time. It was clearly hard for Mikasa (who was upset but unwilling to accept sympathy from anyone) but it was just as difficult for Armin – he was just better at hiding it than Mikasa was. There should be no reason for Armin to be less happy about Eren being around than Mikasa was, unless he noticed something. Something worrying that wouldn't be obvious at first glance. But what?

"What made you think Armin was worried?" Jean asked. 

"Hmm… hard to say." Sasha tapped her spoon on the table as she thought. "He was super happy at first but then he got all quiet after Mikasa asked Eren if it was safe for him to be hanging around all the time. Let's see…" Her eyes unfocused as she reviewed her memories of the conversation. "Mikasa said she was worried Eren'd get into big trouble by taking off and that he should go back before they noticed him gone. Eren told her to back off and said they didn't have to worry because the bosses had better things to worry about." 

"Better things?" Jean echoed. "Like what?"

"Armin asked that too but Eren didn't know," Sasha said. "Armin got pretty mad at Eren for not caring why Captain Levi and the others were acting so weird. Mikasa too, sort of, but Eren managed to convince them that it was nobody's business but Captain Levi's and they backed off." She shook her head. "I was still curious so I tried to find out myself but… sorry. No luck here. I came up empty." 

"Damn." Jean sighed and leaned back in his chair. 

"What about those old guys?" Sasha asked suddenly. "Would they know anything?"

"Nope. I don't even need to ask," Jean waved a hand dismissively. "The ones who aren't away on missions are still over at the Trainee camp. They got a shipment of spoiled food over there too but nobody noticed until almost all the instructors and a few students were taken out by food poisoning. None of the other camps could spare people so Instructor Shadis called in some very old favours. Allan and the others are stuck filling in until the regular staff recovers."

"And Captain Levi let them go?" Sasha's eyes were wide with disbelief. 

"They're using their vacation time," Jean said. 

"Who's using their vacation time?" 

Connie sat down in an empty seat without waiting to be invited. His eyes were fixed on his tray, which held the same unappetizing meal that they just suffered through, to make sure nothing fell as he settled in the chair. He completely missed the look that Sasha shot Jean over his head. Jean groaned inwardly, dreading a repeat of the "we should include Connie" argument, and reluctantly took charge of the conversation before one of them said something stupid. 

"Allan," Jean said flatly. "You know, our roommate? The guy who's been missing for days? He and a bunch of his friends are on vacation." 

"So that's where he went? Huh, guess I was wrong," Connie said between mouthfuls of soup. 

Jean furrowed his brows in confusion. "Where else would he be?" 

"I dunno, helping out with Hange's new experiment?" Connie shrugged. 

"What new experiment?" Sasha interjected. "I didn't hear about any new experimen– wait. Oh no." Sasha turned to Connie with a horrified expression. "Connie, do we have to help out with this one too? Please say no. Please say no, I beg you!" 

Connie grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. "We're off the hook for this one!" 

"Oh thank goodness." Relieved, Sasha slumped in her chair. "Why though? At least one of us gets forced to help out with them, no matter what." She glanced at Jean for confirmation. "Right?"

"Yeah," Jean said. "It's usually Eren 'cause he's there anyway but, well, he's right over there." Jean turned pointed across the mess hall to where Eren and Reiner were having a conversation that involved a lot of very enthusiastic arm-waving. "So if we're all here, who's Hange forced to do all the boring bits?"

"I thought it was Allan," Connie said. 

Jean crossed his arms. "Why? They're too highly-skilled and valuable to be wasted on the kind of crap Hange usually makes us do."

"Because it seemed really important?" Connie stared at the bowl of greenish liquid he was tentatively poking at and decided that he couldn't stomach anymore. He pushed the tray away and started gnawing on the bread. "Hange's probably testing that crap they picked up in the woods after that officer in the ugly clothes took off with your unconscious carcass."

"Ugly clothes sounds like Antonio," Sasha said cheerfully. 

Connie's reply turned into indistinct white-noise that was drowned out by the hammering rain on the roof. Blood roared in Jean's ears. His pulse spiked as renewed fear began gripping his chest. 

They found something? The Scouting Legion actually found something in the woods? So that's why they called off the search and left everything to Garrison. But what was it? What did they find? Something to link Jean to the hunter's cabin? No, maybe it was something the ambushed patrol left behind. The patrol lied about the number of Titans out there. Did they lie because they lost something at one of the battle sites that they didn't want the Scouting Legion to find? No, that couldn't be it either. Hange wouldn't get involved unless it was Titan-related. That would mean that what Connie saw the Scouting Legion remove from the woods had to be part of a Titan. And if they were being so secretive, it would have to be something strange. Something unusual. Exceptional. 

Like a Titan whose flesh didn't immediately begin to dissolve after suffering a mortal wound. 

Marco. 

Where the hell was Marco? Did he get caught? Was that why he was so quiet lately?

"Uh, hey guys? I've got to get going." Jean distantly marvelled at how normal his voice sounded. 

"Already? But I just got here," Connie protested. 

"Aw, let the guy get some rest," Sasha lightly punched Connie's shoulder. "I'll keep you company. We don't want ol' grumpy here to get even grumpier, do we?" 

Connie burst out laughing. "Damn right there." He made a shooing motion as he looked past Jean's shoulder. "Get going. I'll make sure Eren and the others leave you alone today. You're enough of a pain in the ass already." 

Jean nodded his thanks and slipped away from the table just Eren rose from his seat with an intent look on his face. Experience said that look could only mean trouble but what, exactly, Jean did to attract the suicidal idiot's ire this time was a complete mystery. But given that Eren started to pick fights with Connie of all people, there was a very good chance that Jean was completely innocent of wrongdoing this time. Eren was probably just using them as an outlet to blow off steam. 

Well, too bad for him, Jean had more important things to do. He didn't have the time to indulge childish morons who couldn't think of better ways to cope with the shit that life threw at them. Jean hurried across the cafeteria toward the double doors that led to the practice yard. 

The rain that had been an ever-present drizzling nuisance for the last couple days was now coming down in force. He could hear the wind roaring as it whistled around the buildings, flinging water against the windows with enough force to make the shutters rattle and the room reverberate with the steady drumming on the roof. Nobody in their right mind would want to venture into a storm like that. Jean normally would have stayed put until the worst of the storm passed but with Eren looking for trouble, retreat was the only option if Jean wanted to avoid getting another disciplinary mark put on his record. 

Unfortunately, there were only two viable ways to exit the cafeteria – the doors behind Eren's table that led to a covered walkway that connected the main building, and the doors leading outside. And since Jean was trying to avoid an unnecessary confrontation, there really was no other choice but to chose the storm. 

Jean threw his shoulder against the heavy door just as Connie and Sasha leapt up to pepper Eren with nonsense questions that made him stop dead in his tracks to stare at them in confusion. Jean forced the door open just enough to slip outside and, seconds, he was completely soaked through. It would be a very bad idea to linger outside longer than necessary. Jean ran for the barracks but traversing the yard was much slower going that he would have liked. The pounding rain turned the yard into a maze of slippery mud pooled on top of hard-packed soil, quicksand-like traps that sucked down boots and refused to let go, and pock-marked here and there at random were solid patches of weedy grass that yielded to nothing. 

By the time Jean managed to reach the barracks, the freezing rain sucked all of the heat out of his body and he was shivering violently. It took several tries to get the door unlocked between the anxious tremors on his hands and the cold numbness in his fingers. Jean tucked his hands under his arms and hurried though the deserted hallways with no regard for the trail of mud and water he left in his wake. His mind was too busy mulling over worst case scenarios. Jean's first instinct was to find Allan or Antonio and extract every bit of information he could but in his panicked state, Jean didn't realize the problem with his plan until he pushed open the door and saw Allan's bed in the same untouched state it was all week.

Oh. Now he remembered. They were all helping out at the Southern Trainee camp. Allan and Antonio and all the other card-players that regularly visited that secret lounge. Nobody was here. 

…Nobody? 

A slow smile tugged the corners of Jean's lips upwards as the information sunk in. With Connie occupied with keeping Eren off his back and the veteran soldiers all gone, Jean would have the entire floor to himself. Privacy. Peace and quiet. 

Marco can wait, Jean told himself as he closed the door and leaned against it. It had already been over a week of complete silence so putting things off a little longer couldn't hurt. Jean would have to be a fool to not take advantage of this opportunity to relax and maybe try to catch up on his sleep. And even if he was currently in mortal peril, Marco would totally understand why Jean chose to wait until morning before acting. Really. Marco would just yell and complain if Jean dared to come to his rescue while shivering from the freezing rain and splattered with mud and staggering around drunk on insomnia. 

Jean pushed himself off the door with eyes fixed on his dresser sitting in the corner.

Staying inside for the evening was a good idea, he said to himself. A great idea even. Especially since he didn't have the faintest idea where to start looking for Marco. 

Jean left a trail of soaked and muddy clothes as he crossed the room in quick strides, sighing in relief at the warmth of the room on his skin as he peeled off the damp and chilly fabric. He yanked open a drawer and began rummaging for a change of clothes. Something warmer than usual. Maybe something like that sweater his grandma knitted and sent him a few years back? The oversized wine red one with the weird pattern. Jean was pretty sure that he brought it with him from the trainee barracks but— 

Someone cleared their throat with a loud and uncomfortable and fake-sounding "ahem". 

Jean froze and began to swear mentally. Damn it, was Allan back early? On one hand, maybe he knew something about luring out Bodts that didn't want to be found since Allan was good friends with one too. On the other hand, Jean was actually really looking forward to a quiet evening. So much for that. Jean started picking through the drawer with more force than necessary.

"What?" Jean grunted irritably. "It's not like you've never seen me like this before."

"Y-yeah, but that was…" The words were barely intelligible through a thick but familiar accent. "And now, you look—" The words cut off with a strangled noise. "Please put on some clothes." 

"Marco." Jean sighed. "What the hell are you doing?" 

Jean turned around to see the very person he was so needlessly worried about, whole and healthy and sitting cross-legged on Jean's unmade bed with a cookie frozen half-way to his mouth. Marco's eyes widened. He blindly grabbed the nearest thing he could reach and flung it at Jean's head.

"I said get dressed!" 

Jean caught it and looked down – it was the short-sleeved shirt he usually wore to bed. "That's what I was doing," he sighed as if he was genuinely angry and pulled it on. "Now turn around, you prude, I'm gonna change my pants." 

"Why are you stripping in front of a guest? Have you no shame?" Marco complained but did as he was told. 

This was far more satisfying than a punch, Jean decided as he watched the back of Marco's neck and the tips of his ears turn red. There was something about making Marco's cheery poker-face crack that was incredibly entertaining. Addictive, even. Jean could see why Marco never got tired of doing this exact same thing to him back in their Trainee days but, still, it was high time for Marco to get a taste of his own medicine. 

Jean wiggled out of the clinging, wet denim and kicked off the water-logged boots. He originally was going to wear the first warm sweater and long pants he could find but now, things were different. Jean changed into a pair of shorts that he usually only wore to sleep at the height of summer and padded back to the bed in bare feet. The mattress shifted beneath his weight as he sat down and Marco glanced over –eyes lingering on Jean's legs for a second too long to be dismissed as casual– before he went back to staring at the wall as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Jean allowed himself a second to indulge in a triumphant grin before wiping the expression away in favour of his usual scowl. 

Jean nudged Marco's shoulder. 

"You know, a real guest would have better manners than to disappear for days, scaring the shit out of me, then breaking into my room so you could eat all of my carefully hidden snacks."

"But these aren't yours. See?" Marco picked up a small bag that had been resting on his knee and held it up to display the words "Jean: DON'T EAT" and, below that, "Give to Marco" printed neatly on the side in Mrs. Kirstein's distinctive handwriting. "And these still taste pretty fresh," Marco said as he popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth and reaching for another. "So I think I should be asking why your mother is still sending me things months after I was declared dead." 

"I couldn't find a good time to mention you died and then, after a month or so went by, I thought it'd be really weird to bring it up all of a sudden. So then I thought… whatever." Jean shrugged. "More for me."

Marco shook his head in dismay. 

"What?" Jean said defensively. 

"Absolutely shameless," Marco said, but his gaze flitted down to rest on Jean's bare legs. It took a couple minutes before Jean realized that Marco's attention was focused on the puffy redness of the still-healing cut on Jean's thigh. 

Jean shifted a bit uncomfortably at the scrutiny and disapproval on Marco's face and barked out: "Hey. Are you going to keep dodging my questions or what?" 

Marco didn't answer. He gave no indication that he had heard the question. Dark brown eyes flickered up to meet Jean's and then, without warning, Marco's hand darted out quicker than Jean could react. Jean sat stunned – paralyzed by surprise when Marco pressed the palm of the unscarred hand to his cheek with a unfamiliar emotion smouldering beneath the placid surface. But before could gather his wits, Marco's eyes widened with alarm that was irritatingly familiar and unwanted. 

"Jean, you're freezing!" Marco exclaimed. 

Jean had some choice words to say about the obvious statement but the glare Marco sent his way made the catty words die in his throat, unvoiced. Marco began yanking the blanket free from where it was trapped beneath them, muttering unhappily the whole time.

"Trying to have fun at my expense is one thing but compromising your health to do so is another!" Marco frowned down at the freed blanket, realizing just how thin and inadequate it was, and draped it over both of them. "Honestly!" Marco wrapped his arms around Jean while pressing himself flush against the chilled body. "You're already injured. What if you get sick, too?" 

The temperature rose immediately by several degrees and Jean knew that it wasn't entirely caused by embarrassment due to his friend's boldness. Marco definitely would have gone as far as to sit in Jean's lap if he thought he could get away with it without getting a black eye in the process. Jean also noticed that one side of his body was significantly less cold than the other. It was less like sharing body heat and more like sitting near a campfire. Jean turned toward Marco with open curiosity in his face.

"Your body temperature," Jean said, choosing his words with greater care than he did earlier. "This is a Titan thing, isn't it?"

"It's a Titan thing," Marco confirmed without hesitation. "You know how Titans heal? Well, I have a finer control over the process than most, thanks to being a bit of a klutz when I was little. I don't have to resort to the whole…" Marco made a vague gesture with his hands. "…flashy steam explosion method that Shifters like Eren use. I prefer speeding up the natural process. Less chance of error this way." 

"So if you're so warm right now, does that means you're still not better?" Jean frowned in confusion. "You look fine to me."

Marco smiled with laughter dancing in his eyes. 

"I'm glad you think so, Jean, but you can only say that because all you see is the outside." Marco drew a finger down along the break between scar tissue and normal skin, from his hairline down to his waist. "It takes a lot of energy to regenerate on this kind of scale and with all the food shortages…" He sighed and shook his head. "I just have to keep dealing with being lopsided, internally." Marco smiled and took a deliberate bite from one of Mrs. Kirstein's cookies without breaking eye-contact with Jean. "Healing should go a lot faster now that you're not eating all of MY snacks."

Jean didn't smile. He stared at Marco with tired eyes for a long time before he sighed, "You're not the ones stealing from the Scouting Legion, are you." 

Marco sobered instantly. "No, we're not." 

And for some unfathomable reason, Jean believed him. He believed Marco because, now that he was thinking about it, everything would wrap up too neatly if Marco's group was behind all of the Scouting Legion's problems. Life was never that tidy. It would be easy to pin all the blame on a group of incredibly intelligent Titans out to destroy the only real threat to their existence. Marco admitted that he wasn't looking out for Humanity's best interests but, really, who was? The average person was far more interested in keeping themselves and the ones dear to them safe and Marco was no different. The only difference was that almost everyone Marco wanted to protect were probably like him – Titans that wouldn't die from a wound to the back of their neck. 

Marco's actions implied that the only human he liked enough to actively protect from his brethren was Jean (a possibility that was equal parts flattering and chilling). It would be easy to extrapolate a general disdain for humanity from that indifference. The problem with that theory was, titan or not, Marco just wasn't built that way. That sort of cruelty just wasn't compatible with his personality. 

So if Marco was telling the truth all along and he and his kind had nothing to do with the Scouting Legion's bigger problems, who was behind it? Dissatisfied members of the former Commander Shadis' faction? Current Commander Erwin Smith's followers, drumming up an excuse to expose and get rid of all opponents to his command? Opportunistic third-parties trying to squeeze as much profit out of the desperate Scouting Legion as possible? Garrison or the Military Police, because history said that the three militaries would never get tired of making each other's lives difficult for the hell of it? 

Or was it someone else entirely that was completely overlooked? Someone that might have noticed Jean and Sasha's interest in the matter and were preparing to deal with them before they became a bigger problem? Someone was powerful enough to make Marco's breed of Titan scared enough to come out of hiding? If either of them got hurt just because Jean couldn't mind his own business, the blame would rest squarely on his shoulders for providing the initial spark. 

Jean turned and buried his face in Marco's chest with a pitiful whine. "I'm too young to deal with this shit." 

Marco laughed softly and said "there there" while running his fingers through Jean's hair. 

"Jerk." Jean lightly thumped Marco's chest. "Why couldn't you be the culprit? Then I could turn you in and it'd all be over and done with." 

Marco hummed. "That wouldn't work. Pointing the finger at me would mean exposing yourself as my accomplice. You covered up my alleged crimes, remember?"

"Perfect. We can share a cell. Bunkmates, once again!" Jean sighed, "That'd be nice, don't you think? Being able to just hang out without all this sneaking around." 

"Yeah… yeah, it would." Marco said wistfully. "But you're not going to turn your back on the Scouting Legion and run away with me. Not even if my—the others would accept you. Right?" 

Jean nodded, reluctantly. 

"So, um, yeah…" Marco fidgeted. He scratched his cheek nervously and cleared his throat before saying "Uh, Jean? Is it.. is okay if I ask you for a big favour?" His voice trailed off uncertainly. 

"…depends." Jean narrowed his eyes. "What do you want now?" 

"Information," Marco said candidly. "Sorry, but I won't tell you what I want to know unless you agree to talk first." 

Jean drummed his fingers on his knee. He considered the ambiguity of the request and weighed it with what he knew of Marco's character and integrity. It was unlikely that Marco would ask for something that would seriously jeopardize the Scouting Legion because this is where his cousin and his friends lived. It had to be related to the reason he disappeared for over a week. Marco wouldn't hesitate if his request was something stupid, such as: asking if Jean's mother could send something specific next time, or asking if he could freely raid Jean's dresser for clothes because all of his were sent to Jinae, or asking if he could spend the night because he really didn't want to go back out into the storm. Marco wouldn't even ask; he'd assume that it was still okay for him to do whatever he wanted. 

"Okay," Jean said, "but in return, you will owe me a favour that I can call in at any time, any place, with no complaining. If you can't agree to this then the deal's off."

Marco smiled in relief. "Is that all? Then I agree." 

Jean wondered if he should have laid out some more outrageous terms if Marco was going to capitulate so easily but he dismissed the idle thought before it could get any more tempting. 

"What do you want to know?" Jean asked.

"Why are there so many Scouting Legion soldiers headed to the Interior?" 

Jean blinked. That was not the question he expected to hear. He thought Marco was most interested in what Hange's department was up to. Why would he care about where the Scouting Legion's soldiers were sent on missions?

"I don't know," Jean said honestly. 

Marco sighed gustily and slouched, leaning heavily against Jean. "Damn. I guess it was a bit of a long-shot…" 

"I'm not sure if this helps," Jean blurted out impulsively, "but I noticed there were a lot of unfamiliar soldiers hanging around during our regular drills. Reiner said they showed up without warning… I think it was around the time I spotted you pushing that rickety cart? Uh, sorry for almost beaning you with that rock, by the way." 

Marco's voice shot up an octave and he yelped, "That was you?! But how—"

"A- anyway," Jean said loudly, "most of them disappeared since then but I don't have any idea when they started leaving. If I had to guess, they used the joint investigation of Trost's woods with Garrison as a cover and slipped away once they were alone." Uncertainty stole over Jean's face. He bit his lip and stared at the rough surface of the blanket. "But these guys might be completely unrelated to your stuff, so, yeah…" 

"I knew I was right about your instincts. Jean, you're the best." Marco's face lit up with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much. I'll keep looking into things on my end and if I find anything that'll help with your problems, I'll let you know." 

"Do you have to leave right now?" Jean protested, alarmed when he felt Marco's weight shift away and strangely desperate to keep him from leaving. "Can't you stay for a while? I mean, aren't you at all curious about what Hange's crew found out there?" 

Marco paused. "What did they find?" 

"I'm not sure. Connie's the only one who saw it." Jean rambled. "He said some Scouting Legion people hauled something out of the woods after you ran off but whatever they found, they didn't want anyone to know they had it. After weeks of staring at those damn woods, the bosses suddenly all lost interest in it without warning. And then! And then, talk about your suspicious timing, but the same time that Allan and Antonio and their friends all have leave to help Instructor Shadis over at the Training Camp, the soldiers still here are suddenly all too busy to pay any attention to us and Hange Zoe's busy with some kinda experiment that doesn't involve Eren. Whatever it is, I bet it's got to be Titan-related. Maybe they found a piece of you guys out there?"

"Is that so?" Marco laughed and affectionately ruffled Jean's hair as he stood. "Don't you worry, Jean. This problem will fix itself without you needlessly putting yourself at risk. Try not to look too unsurprised when it does, okay?"

"Oh, okay. Sure, but are you sure you can't—"

"Jean," Marco said patiently, "I can't. Not even a dead-tired and infirm Connie would miss it. He was often assigned to the bunk next to ours, remember? He knows what our sleeping habits are like. There's absolutely no way he could look at the lump of blankets on your bed and not be able to tell that I was here. You haven't told anyone else about me…" Marco hesitated. "…Right?" 

Jean shook his head. "Nobody."

"Right. So, staying longer is definitely not an option. I'm sorry. You know I'd love to, but… you know." Marco hefted the bag of reclaimed cookies with one hand and smiled. "I will be back for the rest of these so you'd better obey your mother's orders and stop eating Marco's snacks." The smile shifted to a mischievous grin. "Oh, and remember: you had no idea whatsoever that what's going to happen ever COULD happen. Okay?"

Marco slipped on his shoes and gave a little wave as he slipped out the door but, this time, Jean knew better than to chase him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it's a little wonky in places. I was rushing to get this chapter out before I disappear for NaNoWriMo. I'll edit this properly in December... or randomly, in November, if the burning urge to procrastinate hits. 
> 
> That said, I still have no idea what I'm doing this year. Some self-indulgent Jean/Marco, like this story (which was last year's NaNo)? Oh well, I still have one whole day to think about it.


	13. Chapter 13

The storm's intensity grew as the night wore on – wind howling around the old building like banshee while rain pounded relentlessly on the shuttered windows. It showed no signs of stopped even when the next morning finally arrived. Dense, dark clouds that were heavy with rain hung low in the skies, blotted out all signs that morning had arrived. It was incredibly difficult to muster the energy to crawl out of bed. Jean had spent the whole night staring at the ceiling, wondering about those cryptic parting words while trying very, very hard to ignore the faint scent of Marco's favourite soap clinging to the sheets. 

It wasn't until Connie slammed the door on his way out that Jean realized that it was tomorrow and that he should probably get up soon. 

The noise of his fellow graduates getting ready for the day drifted up from the floorboards. All of the new recruits who joined around the time that the 104th batch of trainees graduated from the four main camps were given rooms on the second floor. The only exception was Jean and Connie, who were placed together with the few survivors of Keith Shadis' era on the fourth floor. The third was occupied by those weren't scared off by Commander Erwin Smith's rousing speech about death rates and survival percentages – there weren't many of them. The majority of the third floor's occupants either died within the last couple months or housed in the building reserved for the exclusive use of the Scouting Legion's commander's elite and their hand-picked squads. The first floor was set aside for meeting rooms and administrative use. The fifth floor was converted into storage space once it became clear that Erwin Smith would never be able to attract the sort of numbers that previous Commanders were able to during the Scouting Legion's heydays. 

The only good point about being isolated from the others was that Jean and Connie had free access to the still fully functional washroom facilities on the fifth floor. The others were too intimidated to venture higher than the landing to the third floor, meaning that Jean and Connie didn't have to fight the others for sink space in the mornings. Jean truly appreciated the room assignment error whenever he walked down the stairs and saw the chaos of an entire floor of teenagers who had to share co-ed washroom facilities. 

Jean leaned against the railing and rest his chin in his hand, watching with detached interest. He didn't realize anyone was near him until Krista suddenly leaned into his line of sight. Jean jumped but managed to mask his surprise so it was little more than a slightly-too-fast turn of his head.

"Can I ask you something?" Krista asked hesitantly.

He glanced around to make sure Sasha or Ymir were not standing nearby before saying "Who, me?" with a confused frown. 

Krista nodded. 

"What do you want from me?" Jean said. He couldn't imagine what Krista would want to ask him. She was one of those who rarely spoke to him during their Trainee years unless she absolutely had to. 

"Can you come with me to run an errand?" Krista bit her lip and glanced back at the chaos of the second floor. "I'd ask Ymir to go with me, but I can't find her. Do you mind? If you're busy…"

"Nah, it's okay. I'm free." Jean assured her quickly, thinking about how Ymir would react if he refused and she found out. "But if you're looking for intimidation so people won't bug you, wouldn't, I don't know…" His eyes fell on Reiner and Bertholdt, who standing off to one side and talking quietly while keeping an eye on the bathroom lineup. "Wouldn't those guys be a better choice?" 

Krista turned to see who Jean pointed out and shook her head. "Ymir told me to ask you if she's not around." 

Jean stared at the blonde in slack-jawed surprise. Ymir recommended him? Why? Did Sasha vouch for Jean's character? She was really good friends with both Ymir and Krista so they would probably trust Sasha's judgement… but while it was possible, Jean didn't believe it was probable. Sasha only started to think that Jean was a decent person recently, after all. 

"She did?" Jean asked, not entirely convinced that he heard Krista right. "Why?"

Krista furrowed her brows. "I… I don't think I should repeat what she said. You wouldn't like it." 

"I'm sure I've heard worse but, whatever." Jean shrugged. "I'm totally fine with not getting insulted first thing in the morning." Jean pushed off from the banister and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Are we going outside? You'll need to go back for the poncho then. It's pouring out there." 

Krista nodded. "I'll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, then. Thank you." She smiled and hurried off toward her room. 

Jean continued down the stairs to wait for her by the side exit. He guessed that she would rather take the covered walkway that led to the main building rather than slog through the muddy practice yard. He only just leaned against the wall, settling in to wait, when he heard the sound of Krista's light footfalls on the stairs. 

"That was fast," Jean called out as she rounded the corner. 

"It would be rude to make you wait until I managed to get through the bathroom lineup," Krista said. "I can wait until after we get back. They should be done by then, right?" 

"You'd know better than me." 

Jean stepped through the door and braced it open against the wind as Krista stepped through. It closed with a bang that made someone upstairs shout "What the hell was that?" as they hurried away. There was no attempt at making polite small talk as Jean followed Krista toward their destination. Krista was intent on finishing her errand and Jean was just a tagalong who was there to hover threateningly in the background. The role Ymir would have gladly played, no doubt, had she been around. Jean yawned and slouched after Krista as she wound her way through the corridors.

"Here we are!" Krista announced. 

Jean looked around and noticed that they weren't very far from the Scouting Legion's storage warehouse. There were a few civilian contractors and delivery men milling impatiently near a window where a man in uniform was slowly sorting through paperwork. This was probably where all of the Scouting Legion's supplies were dropped off. The mail too, probably. Jean studied the faces of the civilians and recognized most of them from around Trost, but none of them were people he knew personally. 

"What now?"

"Can you get the attention of the person in the shipping office and ask if they have a package for me?" Krista blushed slightly and pointed at the window that was set at face height for an adult. "I'm too short for them to see me and, um… I don't think they can hear me over the noise." 

"So what you were really after was my height and my rudeness, huh?" Jean shook his head, smiling to soften the harsh words. "I'll be right back." 

Krista clasped her hands together and said "Thank you" with a bright, relieved smile. 

Jean pushed his way through the crowd that was starting to get increasingly agitated by the soldier working the Shipping Office's desk and called out, "Hey! Has the package for Krista Lenz arrived yet?" 

Jean put his hands on the counter and pulled himself up. He was hoping that Krista's package would be sitting out in the open but all he managed to see where stacks of ledger books on the back counter that were slowly sliding sideways due to all of the papers crammed haphazardly between the cover and the first page. Most of the back wall was taken up by a corkboard that was occupied by an outdated calendar, a couple clipboards with different forms attached, and some generic looking safety notices. 

The man gave Jean an irate scowl and snapped "Get down from there and ask the mailroom!" before pointedly turning his attention back to the papers in his hands. 

"They said it was still over there." Jean glanced back at Krista, who nodded to confirm the guess. "So where is it? It should have arrived already." 

The soldier silently jabbed his pen in the general direction of the other men who were standing around.

Jean scowled. He opened his mouth to argue further when he found his voice cut off by a heavy hand falling on his shoulder. The man who had been standing at the desk when Jean cut into the line forcefully turned Jean to face him. The man was tall – probably somewhere between Reiner and Bertholdt's height – with thick dark brown hair and green eyes and the solid body of someone who did manual labour for a living. He looked stressed but not particularly angry. Not at Jean, at least. 

"Don't bother arguing," said the dark-haired delivery man who looked like he could break Jean in half with hardly any effort. "This soldier is very fussy." There was something familiar about the unusual rhythm of the man's speech. "He likes things done in a specific order and refuses to deviate from the guidelines for any reason. It's good that he is careful but it's not good that he holds everybody else up." 

"You'd better not be complaining," the soldier manning the desk snapped. "I'll get to you when I'm done and the more you talk the longer it'll take!" 

The solider muttered something insulting under his breath, just loud enough to be heard by the dark-haired man at the window but not Jean. It was something to do with the civilian man's heavy accent. The soldier sneered threateningly from behind the safety of the partition when the delivery man took visible offense. 

"You shouldn't say things like that." The dark-haired man said with greater patience and politeness than Jean felt the clerical soldier deserved. "Need I remind you, again, we are not bound by a contract to the Scouting Legion? We don't have to sell anything to you."

The soldier flapped a hand dismissively and didn't answer. He didn't even look up. The dark-haired man's hands tightened into fists and he glanced at the person standing in line behind him, who flashed him a reassuring smile and leaned against the wall and made no move to take the vacated spot. The dark-haired man nodded tightly and retreated outside, where, through a glass panel set in the door, he could be seen gesturing wildly as he paced back and forth on the small covered porch. 

Jean was intrigued by the exchange but he wasn't curious enough to get involved with someone else's fight. Going outside to talk to the dark haired man with the odd accent could easily be construed as taking that guy's side. What he should do, as a member of the Scouting Legion, was show solidarity with a fellow soldier regardless of who was actually in the wrong. Jean glanced at Krista to see what she wanted to do. She gave him a small, defeated smile and motioned that they should leave. 

"Are you sure you want to give up already?" Jean asked as soon as they were out of earshot of the cranky soldier. 

Krista nodded. "I don't want to cause any trouble just because I'm a little impatient. I can wait. It's not that important…" 

Jean could tell she was lying from the way her eyes didn't quite focus on his face. That package was important to her but, for some reason, she didn't want to cause a scene to get it and Jean couldn't figure out why. It didn't make sense. Why would Krista ask for help from someone with the face of a thug and a reputation to match if she wasn't willing to let him do whatever he felt was necessary to get her mail? Was it because he wasn't Ymir so Krista felt guilty for asking him play Ymir's part? Yeah, that was probably it. 

Jean made a mental note to tell sharp-tongued woman all about the encounter (plus a few embellishments to ensure that she would put the fear of Ymir into the clerical staff) at the very first opportunity. 

An incredibly awkward silence fell. 

"Anyway…" Jean rubbed the back of his neck. "The lineup at the barracks should be gone by now. Don't you still have to get ready for the day?"

"Oh, you're right!" Krista clasped her hands together and smiled up at him. "And thank you again for coming with me—" Her face fell slightly "—even though it turned out to be a waste of time. I really do appreciate it."

Jean grunted. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked away, avoiding eye contact as he desperately tried to come up with a way to end the conversation without sounding like he was trying to get rid of her. Krista was a nice girl, and pretty, but her mannerisms screamed "upper class" no matter how much she tried to hide it and Jean had no idea how he would act around people like that. Mercifully, Krista picked up on Jean's discomfort and gracefully withdrew to finish preparing for the day but Jean still had to wait until he was absolutely certain that she was gone before he could relax. 

Since he was already up, hi might as well make himself useful, he decided. The mission desk was probably open. He could go pick up today's assignment and get an early start—

Wait. No. That was a bad idea. It was, wasn't it? 

He did exactly that for so many days in a row already that it was starting to look like Jean was happy to do any stupid task the Scouting Legion set out before him. Nothing could be further from the truth. On the other hand, Jean didn't want to make his discomfort with Commander Erwin's methods too obvious because doing so would make an enemy of Eren and Armin and that, in turn, would put Jean on the wrong side of everyone who would side with them. Jean's life would very quickly become hell and then, once a certain freckled busybody found out, his protective instincts would go into overdrive and Marco would end up doing something they'd both regret later. 

It was much safer to waste time at his usual table in the mess hall until it was the scheduled start time. Maybe he would even try some of the Scouting Legion's breakfast today, because who knew if there was anything edible left back in his room? Marco found the cookies so he probably found everything else. 

Cafeteria food it was, then. 

The faint murmur of voices leaked through the heavy doors and Jean paused, hands resting on the doors. He cocked his head to one side to listen closely. The wood was too thick for any words to penetrate but he could tell from the rhythm of the sounds that a lot of people were talking. Jean frowned, feeling uneasy but not sure why. He didn't figure out what his instincts were trying to say until after he pushed the doors open and stepped inside.

What he heard wasn't the usual buzz of many conversations happening all at once, but that of orders being given. 

Because inside the room built to accommodate a much larger Scouting Legion, was just about every single enlisted soldier. Soldiers of all ranks from more squads that Jean knew existed were squished together on the benches with their hands placed on the tables where they were visible to all. The senior officers paced up and down the aisles with tight, anxious expressions while their blades rattled loudly in the boxes with every step. In contrast, most of the seated soldiers were not in full uniform – suggesting that they were collected in whatever state they were found in.

Jean stumbled back a step. 

A group interrogation. 

Again.

Jean's hand shot out to catch the handle of the heavy door before it could slam shut. Did anyone see him yet? Was there still time to run? All of the soldiers walking between the rows of tables were members of the senior officers' personal squads. Erwin's most trusted soldiers. The elite. Maybe it would be safer to stay put then. He didn't know what they were looking for, after all, so he could had a good alibi for the time of the incident. Maybe. Hange Zoe stood at the front of the room, overseeing everything with a stern expression while Captain Levi stood a few paces away. Captain Levi was talking to a brown-haired guy with a clipboard who kept looking over at Hange with an expression that screamed "help me" whenever Levi looked away. Her Second in Command, perhaps? Personal assistant?

But more importantly, why would Hange be involved with an interrogation? Wasn't she just the head of the Science and Research divisions? 

"Name and rank," A sharp voice demanded.

Jean reflexively snapped to attention and said "Jean Kirstein, Private." Then he glanced out of the corner of his eyes at the soldier standing by the door. It was one he remembered seeing at some of the experiments run on Eren's Titan form. One of Hange's men.

"Squad?" said the soldier as he flipped through the pages attached to his clipboard. 

"I… uh… What?" 

Jean wondered what to say. He never did bother to follow up with the Personnel desk to check if he was actually assigned to a squad or if that was all just a bluff. Lying, even accidentally, would look bad in a situation like this.

The soldier clicked his tongue and muttered "nevermind." He flipped a bunch of pages over the back of the clipboard and studied the page he turned to. "Kirstein, right?" 

"Y- yeah. That's me." Jean tried to figure out what Hange's soldier was looking at by studying the back of the pages but none of the ink bled through the paper. 

"…Oh." The soldier's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He looked up at Jean with an unreadable expression, then his eyes darted back down at the page as if to check that he hadn't misread, before returning to settle on Jean's face. "I see." 

What? 'I see?' What did that mean? What did he see? Jean stomped down the sudden surge of panic and schooled his voice into a polite and disinterested tone. 

"Sir?" Jean asked.

The soldier shook his head. "You run with a weird crowd, Private Kirstein." He tucked the clipboard under his arm and turned away. "Come along. You'll be seated over here." 

Jean decided that silence was the only appropriate answer to a comment like that. He shut his mouth and followed Hange's soldier. Everyone present seemed to be arranged according to squad, Jean realized as they crossed the length of the cafeteria, so he was probably going to be placed with his fellow 104th class graduates. He spotted Reiner's big blond head at a table directly in their path, where he was seated with Sasha and Connie and just about everyone else. Jean breathed a sigh of relief. They looked up as one when Jean approached but to everyone's surprise, Hange's soldier walked right past the table without pausing. 

"Jean? Hey! Where are you going?" Connie called out. 

Good question, Jean thought as he followed the man over to a table that was nearly empty. 

"This is it." Hange's soldier said, waving his clipboard at the table. "Someone will come by to deal with you guys later. In the mean time, sit down and keep quiet." He walked away without waiting for a response. 

Jean glanced back at where his friends were seated and noticed that few people were still missing – Bertholdt, Ymir, Krista, and Eren. He turned around. Eren was sitting alone the very front of the room at a table that was probably Squad Levi's table. So if the table in the back was the one set aside for people with no squad, why was Jean separated from them? He glanced at the other occupants of the table to stood beside. The people here were either seated alone or in pairs but there was no obvious connection beyond that.

"Heeey, look at who we have here. It's the rookie!" 

It was the red-haired female soldier from the ambushed squad. She raised a hand in greeting as the guy beside her, the one who had gone off with Sasha to look for the other survivor, beckoned Jean closer. He patted a spot on the bench beside him. Across from them was a guy with his leg in a cast, sitting sideways with his leg stretched out on the bench . It was the same man who was nearly eaten by the three Aberrant Titans in Trost's woods. 

"I never thought I'd see you guys again," Jean said with honest surprise as he sat down. 

"Same here," the woman said. "Small world, huh? Welcome to Leftovers Table."

"First of all, let me thank you for saving my life." The man with the cast leaned across the table, grabbed Jean's hand, and squeezed it. "I owe you." 

Jean winced at the force of the man's grip. "Sure," he said uncomfortably. "Um, how's the leg?"

The guy released Jean's hand. "I might never walk properly again but it's too early to know for sure." He shrugged carelessly and grinned. "But hey! At least they didn't have to amputate it."

"Th-that's good…?" Jean said weakly.

"It is. I'd rather be a cripple for life than a good looking corpse." The guy leaned back in his chair. "But seriously, we owe you one."

"Huh? We?" Jean echoed dumbly.

The man sitting beside Jean, the one who managed to avoid sustaining any injury, nodded. "Thanks to you and that Sasha girl, I managed to reach our Second in Command before she bled out. She'd like to thank you personally too but she's got too many internal injuries for the doctors to let her out of their sight." The guy rolled his eyes. "Not even for this ridiculousness." He waved a hand at the room in general. 

"So what's going on?" Jean asked. "And what did you mean by 'leftovers'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like." The red-haired woman rest her chin in her hand. "Everyone sitting here are from squads that are missing a leader because they're either dead or MIA." 

"Then I really shouldn't be here," Jean said quickly. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be sitting with my friends, over there." 

"Well I'm sure that your place is here." The red-haired woman tapped a finger on the table's surface. "If they put you here then here is where you're supposed to be. This isn't just an interrogation, Kid, they're also performing an audit of the personnel lists. You know, to make sure that they're not accidentally paying salaries to dead soldiers and all that boring paperwork shit? She yawned and shifted to rest her head on the table. "We'll probably be stuck here the whole frigging day…"

"Of course we will," said the man with the cast. "They've only got one trained monkey to fill out the forms this time." 

Jean realized that Eren wasn't just sitting at the table at the front of the room, doing nothing. He was surrounded by piles of papers and was frantically scribbling on them, freezing in abject terror whenever Captain Levi walked over and picked up a page to check the penmanship. Jean snorted with laughter. Eren's shoulders stiffened and Jean quickly turned away before Eren's blazing eyes could find him.

"Well, this is also an interrogation." The uninjured man sitting next to Jean pointed out to his colleague. None of them noticed Jean's distraction. "That scrawny kid is probably the only literate person they can spare who's also passed the security checks."

"I guess." The man with the cast didn't look convinced at all. 

"Why do they care so much if Titan bits go missing, anyway?" The red-haired woman was now face-down on the table with her arms stretched out over the surface. "That's what they're supposed to do! Why not just chop some new samples off the Captain's pet Titan if they need more? That's what they're doing already, right?" 

"Yeah, well, WE all know that a Titan's a Titan but this is Hange we're talking about. She's gotten worked up over less," the uninjured man said. "I bet this is more about someone sneaking into the lab and ruining her experiments for a second time, than the samples themselves." 

"So they've been running experiments all this time," Jean mumbled. 

He remembered how often Eren had been around lately. Did they give him so much time off because they were worried about overtaxing his body by making him transform too much? Marco did say that using Titan abilities was physically draining but, on the other hand, Hange didn't seem like the kind of person who would worry about little things like the happiness of her research samples. 

"You bet," the red-haired woman said. "They found Titan bits out there in Trost's woods that made them get all disgustingly giddy and excited." She paused. "Well… it more like one of Garrison's guys found it but the Scouting Legion was able to cart it off first. Cackling with victory the whole way." 

"I can't blame Captain Bott for getting so pissed when he got back from HQ and found it gone," The uninjured man frowned. "Wait, that's not right. Sergeant, was it? Shit, what rank is he over here again?" 

"The hell if I know," the red-haired woman said dismissively. 

"Hang on a second," Jean interrupted. "Are you talking about Antonio Bodt? Really tall, dark hair… really horrible scars around here... a terrible fashion sense?" 

The man with the cast looked like he was going to reply but then, his eyes darted up over Jean's head and his mouth closed with a snap. He sat up straighter. And then so did everyone else on that side of the table. Icy dread pooled in Jean's stomach as he turned around slowly. Captain Levi stood with arms crossed as he fixed Jean with a steely glare. Jean didn't dare to look away, not even when he noticed a distracted man with short brown hair approaching them with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. 

"Private Kristein," said the guy who was probably Hange's second in command. "Come with us. The Captain and I have some questions for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Plotty chapters are much harder to write than silly fluff or action scenes. Maybe this is a sign that I should update Counterbalance next...


	14. Chapter 14

All of Jean's thoughts dissolved into blind panic. Just as he feared, all of the half-truths and evasiveness and outright lies caught up to him. The Scouting Legion finally got their long sought-after plausible excuse for an interrogation, all thanks to whatever idiot decided that now was the perfect time to sabotage Hange's new experiment. The top brass would have to be complete idiots to pass up this window of opportunity because with all of former Commander Shadis' soldiers conveniently away from Headquarters, there was nobody left who had enough clout to stand in the way of Erwin's men. They could do whatever they wanted without fear of reprisal now that the dissenting voices were gone.

The guy with mousy brown hair swept his gaze over the people sitting stiffly at attention. He frowned suddenly and said in an exasperated tone, "What do you think you're doing?"

It took a second before Jean realized that the words weren't directed at him. The guy with the clipboard was glaring at the male solider with the cast on his leg who was sitting across from Jean. The injured soldier flinched and laughed nervously.

"Oh, uh, hey Moblit." The guy smiled weakly. "They needed my bed so I guess I was released early."

"Where are your crutches?" Hange's subordinate, apparently named Moblit, said flatly as he stared down at injured soldier. 

"I, um, don't need them. Yeah." 

Moblit sighed and turned to point his pen at the fully uniformed soldier standing guard by the doors and said "Get this guy back to the infirmary before he injures himself. Worse, I mean." 

"No," Levi interjected, frowning. "Stay at your post." He turned to Moblit and said, "Find someone else. The guards stay where they are." 

"Then what do you suggest I do, Captain?" Moblit said wearily. "It wouldn't be right to make him walk to the infirmary on a broken leg and besides, an escort is needed to make sure he doesn't try to escape. This one has a reputation." 

Their eyes roamed over the sparsely populated table. 

"Who hasn't been interviewed yet?" Levi demanded.

Nobody answered. The soldiers studiously avoided eye-contact and kept their mouths firmly shut. Jean wasn't sure if it was out of fear or what, but it was clear from the expression on his face that Captain Levi interpreted the silence as insubordination. Thankfully, Moblit supplied an answer before Levi could think of a suitable response. 

Moblit flipped through the pages on the clipboard and announced, "We're pretty much finished with all of them except for Private Kirstein here. He's the last one assigned to this group. Once we're done with him, we can finally move onto the proper squads." 

Levi nodded curtly. "You two." He pointed at the soldiers sitting beside Jean, the redhead and her squad mate. "Escort the idiot back to the hospital and tell those shitheads over there to do their fucking jobs and don't let the cripple wander off again. Then both of you are to come right back here and sit your asses down until I say you're dismissed, understood?"

"Yes sir." The red-headed woman saluted. 

"We'll leave immediately," said the uninjured male soldier.

Captain Levi turned on his heel and began striding away from the table without waiting to see if his orders were actually being obeyed. Moblit breathed out a quiet sigh. He met Jean's eyes, which were still wide with fear, and tried to give the young soldier a reassuring smile. It looked more pained and exhausted than anything. 

"The Captain a little intense but… well…" Moblit's voice trailed off as he apparently gave up on thinking of an excuse for Levi's behaviour. "It's best if you just come along quietly and without a fuss, Private Kirstein." He waved his clipboard at Levi's back. "We have a lot of people to get through and I'd like to get this all done in one day if possible." 

Jean stood and silently trailed after Hange's second-in-command as they made their way toward the front of the room. He was uncomfortably aware of the weight of everyone's scrutiny as they walked past. Jean tried not to look as guilty and frightened as he felt. 

As he walked past, it became clear from the looks on the other soldiers' faces that nobody really knew what was going on. The only people who knew the investigation was a farce were Commander Smith's most trusted subordinates, Jean Kirstein, and Sasha Blouse. Sasha's reputation as a nosy mischief-maker was probably protecting her from true suspicion from the top brass. There was nothing odd about her striking up conversations with the civilian staff about things like ingredient quality and delivery schedules – everyone would just assume it meant that their usual food thief was going to strike again in the near future. 

Jean, on the other hand, had no such defense. All he could hope for was that his acting skills were up to snuff. 

"In here, please, and sit down." 

Moblit ushered him inside the small, windowless room normally used to store miscellaneous pots and pans and cutlery used by the cooking and serving staff. A lantern sitting on a footstool was the only source of light once the door swung shut behind them. Captain Levi leaned against the wall nearest to the door with scowl on his face as he watched Jean squeeze past the mess to reach the chair pushed up against the back wall that was obviously intended for the soldier being interrogated. The room wasn't wide enough to allow more than one person abreast and the shelves beside him were bare (probably to prevent belligerent soldiers from grabbing something to use as a weapon) so he knew his face couldn't be seen by Levi or Moblit. 

Jean took a deep breath and held it. 

Jean squeezed his eyes shut and reminded himself that he could not afford to make a mistake here. If Jean proved their suspicions were true then the Scouting Legion would make an example of him. His life would become a living hell that would put Eren's current conditions to shame but, more importantly, if he completely fucked up and spilled his guts then Marco's life would be forfeit. Marco's life, along with Allan's and Antonio's and the red-haired soldier's and everyone else that foolishly stood between Captain Levi and the answers he spent over a week trying to extract from Jean. All of them would suffer for the crime of siding with Jean Kirstein. 

Never again, Jean swore fiercely. Never again would innocent people die because of his stupid mistakes. 

Jean breathed out slowly and when he turned around to sit down in the chair, his mind was focused. The panic receded to a dull roar at the peripheral edges of his thoughts. Jean settled his face into the grouchy scowl that seemed to be his default expression these days and he crossed his arms… not because he was intimidated by the setup and the glares being sent his way, but as a precautionary measure. Jean knew he had a tell when he was being evasive and if he wasn't extremely careful, those two would figure out what it was. It was better to look like a petulant and belligerent brat than to get caught in a lie and beaten bloody. 

Hange's Second in Command flipped to a fresh page and tapped his pen on the side of the clipboard. 

"This shouldn't take too long, Private." Moblit had a shockingly terrible 'good cop' smile. "If you cooperate and answer truthfully, we'll be out of here in no time." 

Captain Levi, on the other hand, had the whole "bad cop" thing down pat. In fact, he was a little too good. There was no way anyone would believe that Hange's glorified errand boy would be able to stop Levi from going on a rampage if he felt like it. Moblit had neither the rank nor the resolve necessary to stand in Levi's way. The mousy-haired guy looked more terrified of being trapped in a small room with a cranky Captain Levi than Jean was. The Scouting Legion should have asked Hange Zoe to do this instead. 

"Yes, sir." Jean said politely, because there was no harm in playing along at this stage in the game. 

"Good, good…" Moblit mumbled absently as he consulted his clipboard. "First of all, for the record, let's confirm your name and rank and squad." 

Jean opened his mouth to reply, but Hange's subordinate charged on ahead without waiting for a response. 

"Jean Kirstein, Private. Member of Squad Bott, pending authorization from Commander Erwin, is that correct?" Moblit glanced up expectantly. 

"That's right," Jean said while internally filing away the new information. 

So Allan was telling the truth when he issued that ominous warning about how Antonio was an overly helpful busybody, just like Marco. Good to know. Now Jean knew to avoid the rest of Clan Bodt because he had enough trouble keeping up with just Marco. The last thing Jean needed was more of them breathing down his neck and sucking the fun out of things. 

Captain Levi clicked his tongue and growled, "You're supposed to make the brat tell you that!" 

Moblit blinked once in surprise before turning to face Levi. "Oh," he said faintly, "but the other—"

Captain Levi cut him off again. "Shut up and follow the instructions." 

"Yes, Captain." Moblit said. "Private Kirstein, do you recall when Antonio Bodt first expressed interest in adding you to his squad?"

"No," Jean said honestly.

He had a pretty good idea of when the idea got planted in Antonio's head, though, and Levi only had himself to blame for that. Jean also made note of the slight pronunciation difference between Antonio's name and the name of his squad. Was the distinction significant? Maybe it had to do with the technicalities that Antonio invoked to get Captain Levi to back off on that night outside Trost's woods.

"Really?" Moblit looked skeptical. "Because in all the years he's been part of the Scouting Legion, Antonio Bodt has never expressed interest in leading a squad. This isn't like him."

He hasn't? It wasn't? Jean seriously doubted that. Commanding a squad was the fastest way to rise through the ranks and putting Jean in his personal squad would allow Antonio to kill two birds with one stone. Bodts, Jean was coming to realize, did not make promises lightly. 

"Moblit." 

Captain Levi's voice rumbled with the threat of violence but Hange's Second-in-Command just wrinkled his nose slightly in annoyance, knowing that Levi couldn't see it from his position by the door. He even managed to ignore the glare that had to be burning into the back of his head. Moblit certainly didn't look like much but he must've done something to earn his position as the nutty scientist's right-hand-man. Maybe his specialty was dealing with high-strung superior officers?

"Your thoughts, Private?" Moblit said.

Jean quickly considered his possible responses. 

His first thought was to tell the truth but that could lead to questions about Allan and Jean didn't want to give Erwin's men an excuse to come down hard on the grumbling remnants of the previous Commanders' eras. He felt protective of them for a variety of reasons – the main one being that Jean actually liked the grouchy old bastards and felt like he owed them – so the unvarnished truth was ruled out. What then? Should Jean claim that he and Antonio came to know of each other through a mutual friend, years ago? It was sort-of the truth but, wait, no. Saying that might trigger questions like "who is Marco Bodt" and "what is he doing now" and… yeah. No. Hell no. Absolutely not. It too risky to let them know that Marco ever existed in light of what he knew about Marco's true nature. 

Maybe Jean should just lie to Captain Levi's face again? Ha! That was even stupider than using a not-so-dead man as a shield. 

So the only real choice left was…

"With all due respect, sir," Jean said in his best 'condescending but not rude enough to warrant punishment' voice. "Have you seriously never met a Bodt before? Talked to one? Because if you did, you'd know what they're like."

Jean leaned back and stared as if the point he was making was so blindingly obvious that only a very small and stupid child would miss it. In reality, Jean didn't have the faintest idea what he was trying to imply. He knew from second-hand information that all members of the Bodt family possessed a strong moral compass and, according to his three years of friendship with Marco, that sense of justice sometimes manifested in strange ways. He prayed that Marco's family was big and notorious enough to have the kind of reputation that made a bullshit non-answer like Jean's make perfect sense. 

Levi grimaced as if he smelled something foul. 

Moblit glanced over and said "Well, okay then." in a dry voice and turned back around. He spent a minute scribbling things down on the clipboard before looking back up. "Next question." 

Jean struggled to keep the feeling of triumph from rising to his face. The bluff worked. He couldn't believe they actually bought it. Jean nodded in response. 

"Do you know where your Squad Leader is?" 

"The Southern Trainee Camp," Jean replied instantly. 

He remembered how the veterans had collectively laughed their asses off when they received the letter from Shadis that politely demanded their presence, thoroughly enjoying the suffering of their hard-ass former Commander. But, nevertheless, they promptly answered the summons when Shadis called. Jean wasn't positive that Antonio went with Allan and the others but it was a plausible assumption. 

"Why did you not go with him?" Moblit said. 

Jean shrugged. "I'm still in training and I haven't been officially assigned to a squad. The rules wouldn't let him take me along." 

"Yes, we all know how much Squad Leader Bodt likes to follow the rules," Captain Levi said flatly.

Jean glanced up, unsure if Levi was expecting an answer. Jean chose to remain silent and in that silence, the distant sound of thunder rumbled through the building. The storm was still raging outside. Levi's eyes narrowed as Jean stared back, spurred on by a mixture of childish spite and genuine fear of what would happen if he showed any signs of weakness. Moblit cleared his throat loudly and broke the stalemate by catching Jean's attention and drawing it away. The mousy-haired man tapped his pen on the clipboard – probably a nervous habit – and cleared his throat again, loudly. Levi made an annoyed noise but said nothing else. Moblit tried to cover up his obvious anxiety at Levi's growing irritation by straightening to his full height and staring down at Jean.

Ah, Jean thought morosely, here come the real questions. 

"What do you have to report about the night when Titans appeared in the Trost woods?" Moblit said in his best authoritative voice. 

"I gave my report to A—" Wait. Antonio claimed that Jean was already one of his to make Levi back off. It would be odd to refer to his Squad Leader by his first name. "—ah, Squad Leader Bodt already. I don't know if he's done the paperwork yet." 

"He has," Levi said. 

He did? ..Shit. That was just great. How the hell was Jean supposed to stick to the story and keep everyone's lies from blowing up in their faces now? Fuck you too, Antonio Bodt. Jean's hands twitched and gripped his sleeves tighter before Jean could catch stop himself. There was a flicker of dark amusement that crossed Captain Levi's face and Jean swore loudly inside his head. He was caught. 

"That's right, you cocky brat. We've got Bodt's report." Captain Levi didn't sneer but it was it was obvious that he wanted to. 

Jean glanced over at Moblit, hoping for support but finding none. 

Moblit smiled and said, "Please answer the Captain." 

"I… Uh." Jean swallowed hard. Fuck. "What happened that night was… um…" 

"Spit it out!" Levi slammed his fist down on a shelf, rattling the contents. "What did you see out there?!"

"All we want is to hear it in your own words," Moblit assured him, glancing back at Levi. "That's it." 

Jean's amber-brown eyes flickered over the pair. Hange's Second-in-Command had tensed up before Levi hit the shelf. Moblit tried to conceal it with his words but it was too late. Jean already saw it. He saw the anticipatory flinch and the split-second hesitation and, instinctively, he knew what it meant. The fear bled away. 

Levi was ad-libbing and Moblit was following his lead. They had nothing. 

Jean tried to look apologetic but he suspected that it didn't work. "He said I'm not to discuss the events of that day without permission." 

"Oh, there's no need to bother him," Moblit said quickly. "We already have your report on file, after all. We're just confirming the contents."

"Well, I'd be happy to answer your questions, but first..." The faintest hint of a smile touched Jean's lips. "…have you made an official request for information? You can never be too careful during joint operations, the boss always says."

Moblit didn't notice the way Levi tensed suddenly, infuriated at that smug laughter in Jean's eyes. Levi decided that he was completely fed up with pretending that the investigation led by Hange Zoe's men was legitimate. He was sick of letting some nobody of a brat, fresh from the Trainee Corps, act like regulations and one indecisive loaner soldier from Garrison would be enough to shield him from the Scouting Legion's wrath. It wasn't. 

Forget Hange's stupid plan, Levi was going to get the answers he wanted with his bare hands. 

Levi stepped forward with murder in his eyes and Moblit still didn't notice. Nor did he notice when Jean, pulse racing and hands shaking, seized the back of the chair. Jean twisted to scan the nearby shelves in search of a viable weapon use to defend himself with. 

"Where were you yesterday evening?" Moblit announced suddenly. 

The non-sequitur caused both Jean and Levi to jolt to a stop in surprise. They looked at Moblit, who was busy writing things down on the page and not paying attention. The glorified lab assistant just gave a huff of annoyance and tapped his pen sharply on the clipboard as he read over the form. Being impervious to strange looks and stares was probably part of the job description in Hange Zoe's squad. 

Jean, eagerly seizing on the topic change, blurted out "The cafeteria?"

Levi frowned at the back of Moblit's oblivious head and settled back in his original position by the door. He crossed his arms with a huff and glared at the ceiling when the storm outside let loose another rumble of thunder that shook the building. 

"Evening, Private Kirstein." Moblit said patiently. "You were seen leaving in the late afternoon."

"Oh." Was really only afternoon when he took off to avoid Eren? It seemed much later in the day than that but, on the other hand, clouds do have a way of disguising the time of day. "I went back to the barracks afterwards and stayed there until morning."

Hange's assistant hummed absently as he wrote. "Is there anyone who can confirm this?" 

Marco. 

"No," Jean said firmly. "There's no one." 

"I see," Moblit said slowly. 

He glanced back at Levi and they both left the room. 

The moment the door clicked shut, Jean slouched and dropped his head back on the cool stones of the storage room wall. He groaned weakly. Forget walking away from this unscathed, the chances of emerging from this mess just relatively maimed was pretty slim. Jean couldn't look more suspicious if he tried. First, he was being protected by known critics of Commander Smith's command. Next, he was seen poking around the Science and Research department's buildings in the days leading up the incident. And then, not only had Jean lied consistently during his reports to Captain Levi, but they caught him lying during the investigation. 

Jean scrubbed his hands over his face.

And the worst thing of all was that Jean hesitated before confessing that he had no alibi. That was as good as shouting "I'm protecting someone" at the top of his lungs to pro interrogators like Captain Levi.

Jean stood and paced back and forth in the tiny room, gripping his hair tight in a desperate attempt to physically anchor himself in reality with pain. Freaking out now would accomplish nothing. That's what they wanted. Moblit and Levi probably left the room in hopes that Jean's fear and paranoia would do the work for them. Well, lucky for then, they wouldn't have to wait long before the intimidation tactics paid off. Jean could already feel the mind-numbing anxiety rising, threatening to turn his wits to mush. 

He gripped his hair tighter. 

Jean reminded himself of all the lives riding on his ability to bullshit his way out of messes. He couldn't let himself slide away into the comforting mindlessness of blind panic. He couldn't let fear get the better of him. He had to figure out an angle to work that would not only keep him alive, but everyone else who got caught up in his and Marco's wake. The Scouting Legion probably wouldn't outright kill the people who sided with then but there were countless ways to make someone suffer. Their lives could be so thoroughly ruined that it would've been more merciful if the Scouting Legion had ended things promptly with their own hands.

Jean frowned at the floor. Think, idiot. There has to be something. Did Moblit or Levi do anything strange? Ask any weird questions? He needed to find a chink in the armor and, right now, anything would do.

Immediately, one detail came to mind. 

Moblit hadn't written anything down when they were asking about the battle in the woods. But why? Why would Hange's most trusted subordinate – a guy who spent more time acting as a research assistant than the sub-leader of a combat unit – deliberately leave out information? Keeping records of the results, whether it supported the hypothesis or not, should be second nature to a scientist like him by now. He wrote down everything else. 

Why omit this part? 

Maybe it was because they knew that if Moblit wrote it down, Eren would see it when he transcribed the interrogation notes onto the official forms? Yeah, that sounded right. That was probably it. Eren was doing all of the paperwork. He would see everyone's results. Eren would be able to tell immediately that Jean's interrogation was different from everyone else's and then the dumbass would talk. He'd talk because Eren was too opinionated and impulsive to know when it was better to play dumb. It wouldn't even help even if Captain Levi managed to secure Eren's silence because if there was anyone who'd be able to turn being stuck in legal limbo into a good thing, it would be a Bodt. 

After all, Marco was a Titan infiltrator and yet as far as the law was concerned, he was model citizen who wasn't guilty of anything. Not even the accusation that he faked his death would stick because Jean was the one who (unknowingly) made the false report. It was also Jean who removed the evidence, namely what was left of the body, and disposed of Marco's possessions. It would be child's play for Marco to spin the situation so make it look like Jean was Annie's accomplice and a traitor to humanity. Marco could come out looking like a bigger victim of circumstance than Eren. Poor gullible, big-hearted Marco. An innocent bystander with big dreams who had the misfortune of becoming attached to Jean, an asshole heartless enough to aid in the murder of the best and closest friend he ever had. And what a stroke of luck it was that Marco turned out to be a Shifter too.

Jean was lucky that Marco wasn't like that. So very, very lucky. 

Now that meddlesome cousin of his, on the other hand…

It now clear that while Marco and Antonio shared many traits, "willingness to forgive" was not among them. There was a well-hidden vicious streak in the older Bodt that Captain Levi must have noticed. It was probably what convinced Levi to back off and play it safe because it was a sure bet that if even a single rule was broken during the interrogation and there was a way to prove it happened, Antonio would seize the opportunity to spark a jurisdictional turf war between Garrison and the Scouting Legion out of… not spite, but something. Something similar to it, like—

A crack of thunder sounded. A sharp snap, followed by a deep and sonorous rumbling caused the metal pots to jump and rattle on the shelves while the ground quivered faintly beneath his feet. Jean stumbled back, overturning a stack of trays that tumbled to the ground with a deafening clatter as he filled the stagnant air with startled curses. Surprisingly, the noise drew no attention from the guards posted outside the locked door. Muffled voices leaked through the heavy wood but none of the sounds were intelligible. 

Jean pressed his ear to gap between the door and the hinge to listen. 

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, Captain… just the storm…" said a nervous male voice.

Someone replied. Jean couldn't make out any words but he guessed that "Captain" was referring to Levi. There were only two people with that rank who'd be allowed near interrogation cupboard and Hange Zoe wasn't the kind of person who understood the meaning of the phase "inside voice". 

"Let's wait for the guard to come back first, okay? Please?" That had to be Moblit. 

Irritated murmuring was punctuated at the end with a loud "waste of time!" by a voice that definitely belonged to Levi. Anything else Levi was planning to say was cut off by the distinctive clatter of boots on stone and the rattle of blades in the box holsters. 

"Sir!" A female voice said. "That noise just now… it- it wasn't thunder." 

What? Jean pulled back from the door and scowled in confusion. What else could that noise be but the storm? Thunder was the only thing that could make such a—no. Wait. That wasn't true. Jean could think of at least one other thing that could produce a sound powerful enough to shake the earth. 

Levi's voice snarled "Then what was it?" at the same time that Moblit's said "Please, calm down and try to explain."

The female soldier was quiet for a long time. There was enough background noise that Jean found himself pressing right up against the door as he strained his hearing, wondering if she replied too quietly to be overheard. There was the faint sound of metal scraping on metal – the sound of the blades shifting slightly as the soldier fidgeted. So she was still there. 

"Th- the Science and Research building… it's been hit, sir. I mean, it's been attacked…" The female voice hesitated before hissing, "by Titans." 

"What?!" 

The female soldier stammered in a quavering voice, "R-requesting permission to send the guards as back-up!" 

At the same time, far in the distance, came Hange's panicked shriek of "My research!" It was followed by a flurry of sound that made no sense, except when Moblit shouted "No, wait! Don't go out there by yourself!" in a voice that was rapidly dwindling in volume. 

"Tell me everything you saw," Levi growled. "Make it quick. Moblit won't be able to stop that damn four-eyes from doing something stupid." 

"Yes, sir! It was one of the men from the stables who saw it – a Titan came rushing out of the woods near Trost, near where the patrol was attacked. It ran straight at Headquarters before it ran straight into Squad Leader Hange's building and crushed most of it."

"How did it get so far? And what the hell were the patrols doing?"

"M-my apologizes, sir, but I don't know. And, um, most of the men assigned to patrol are currently stationed in this room, and…" The woman continued on in a timid voice that trailed off until it was barely audible. "Um, normally if patrols are short, Antonio and his friends volunteer to fill in, but..."

"What about those fuckers from Garrison?" Levi cut in. "We're letting them prance around right on our doorstep. The least they could do is let us know a fucking Titan is coming!" 

"I think they went back to the wall, sir. Something about waiting out the storm." 

"…Should've known better than to think those cowardly bastards are good for anything but being bait," Levi muttered loud enough that Jean could hear him clearly through the door. 

The female solider asked after a few beats of silence, "Sir… about the reinforcements?" 

"Yeager! Get your ass over here!" 

Levi shouted loud enough that Jean scrambled away from the door in a panic and back to the chair. He sat down just in time. The door slammed open and bounced off the shelf behind it. Jean was slouched in his original position with a bored and sulky expression on his face, looking to Levi's sharp eyes as if Jean hadn't moved at all. Eren stumbled into view and Levi turned around to watch him salute with a fist that was smudged in places with dark ink.

"Yes, Captain Levi!" 

"Gear up. We might need your power." Levi gave Eren a glare that killed the questions before they could be voiced. "And while you're at it, toss this worthless shithead into the cell next to yours and lock him in. I'll deal with him later." 

Eren's eyes darted up over Levi's head and fell on Jean. Eren's brows furrowed and he mouthed 'what did you do' when Levi wasn't looking. Jean didn't know how to answer, especially when he was being watched by so many people, so he didn't bother. Jean just stared at the metal trays scattered on the floor and tried not to think too hard about what he just overheard. 

"Get moving!" 

Eren jumped back, wide-eyed, but he was still willing to protest. "I don't have the key to the other cells!" 

"Tch." Levi crossed his arms. "Yours will work on all of them. Just don't let the coward steal it from you. You can do that much, right? So get going!" 

Eren ran past and grabbed Jean's arm in a painfully tight grip. Captain Levi had already turned away to issue orders to the other soldiers standing around and was no longer paying attention to the two boys, but Eren still kept his mouth shut and refused to speak. He yanked on Jean's arm until they left the cafeteria and were well on their way to the main building where Eren's underground cell was located. It was only then that Eren felt safe enough to start talking. 

"Okay, what the hell did you do?" Eren demanded. 

Jean shrugged off Eren's hand with a sour expression. "None of your fucking business." 

Eren's eyes flashed with anger. "I'm being ordered to lock you in the next cell over. It's my right to know what kind of shit my new asshole neighbour is getting mixed up in!"

"Hey, I'm the one who should be pissed!" Jean glared back. "Look, just lock me in the cell at the end of the hall if it bothers you so much. I don't care anymore." 

"If you don't care then why won't you tell me anything?" 

"Haven't you heard of word 'classified' before?" Jean snapped irritably. "I'm not getting myself in trouble just because you can't mind your own business."

"Oh please," Eren scoffed with a derisive curl to his lip. "Everyone already knows what a colossal fuckup you are. And I'll find out anyway, one way or another, so you might as well tell me now." 

"Fuck you," Jean hissed. 

"I just want to know badly you managed to screw up this time." Eren continued on with an insincere smile that bordered on a sneer. "It'll make a good story, just like Marco used to tell. We could all use a good laugh."

Jean snarled, realizing that he had fallen for Eren's bait again, and clamped his lips shut. Fumed. Let the impatient asshole wear his voice out on insults if he wanted to because Jean wasn't going to say anything. So what if he was going to get locked in a cell, far away from any witnesses and allies that would take his side? Jean owed it to the people who stuck their necks out for him to protect their secrets on turn. He couldn't afford to lose his cool. Jean kept repeating those words over and over in his mind as he was marched into down the stairs. 

He didn't even try to throw a punch at Eren's face when he unlocked the door to filthiest cell he could find. 

Jean hesitated at the entrance to the cell, rooted into place with the horrible realization of just how bad his situation was in. No amount of smartass recitation of rules and regulations or hiding behind other people's reputations would shield him now. Even if the Scouting Legion was worried about the trouble that Allan and Antonio could stir up, they were over a day's travel from headquarters by horseback. It would be physically impossible for them to get back in time to stop anything before it was too late. Jean was well and truly screwed now. 

Eren, assuming that the hesitation was due to disgust at the cell's condition, decided that he made Captain Levi wait long enough. He shoved Jean's back with enough force to send the taller boy sprawling on the ground and slammed the cell door shut. The lock slid into place with a heavy thunk. Jean twisted around. He glared as Eren cheekily wiggled his fingers in goodbye before hurrying away. A minute or two later, Jean heard Eren running back up the stairs to rejoin the other troops.

The upstairs door banged shut, silence reigned over the basement cells. 

Jean slowly pushed himself up on his knees with a hiss of pain and examined the palm of his hand. In some ways, the scrapes that he sustained when he fell in the woods was worse than the cut on his leg. It had scabbed over and started to heal around the stitches but falling had managed to reopen a few of the bigger abrasions. Jean glanced around in hopes of finding some water to wash the dirt out but found nothing but a bare cell that smelled strongly of urine and mold. 

A part of him wanted to curl up and cry, but the ever-present fatigue sapped what was left of his energy. He felt numb. Exhausted. He couldn't even bring himself to feel more than a bit stunned at how quickly life spiralled out of control. The most that Jean managed to do was drag himself upright so he could lean against the wall before it felt like too much effort. Jean hugged his knees with his one good arm and let the other one hang to the side, so the dripping blood wouldn't fall on his clothes. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift for lack of anything better to do. He was imprisoned and helpless to do anything to help while the Titans were rampaging through Headquarters. Aberrant Titans that Jean had the chance to take out but chose to ignore. Titans that were clearly smart enough to take advantage of the gutted patrols to launch an attack on the vulnerable Scouting Legion. Anyone that died today at their hands… their blood would be on Jean's hands. It was his fault for letting them go. It was his fault he didn't go back to finish them when he had the chance. 

Jean wasn't sure how long he spent trapped inside his head, pouring over his numerous faults and thinking all the ways he could've avoided this outcome if he had chosen differently. The lack of windows made it very hard to tell the passage of time and being so far underground made it impossible to hear the sounds of daily life upstairs. All he knew was that everything time he thought about it, he realized that his back was even sorer or his ass was even colder. His hand was aching with pain that throbbed in time with his heartbeat but not even the reopened injury could take Jean's mind off the all-pervasive stink. It was making his eyes water; his closed eyes.

"How the hell can Eren stand this?!" Jean growled irritably.

"He's so used to it that his mind doesn't register the smell anymore," a lightly accented voice murmured.

"Fuck!" Jean yelped and jerked away from the bars, clapping a hand protectively over his ear. "Wh— Damn it, Marco!" He glared. "Would you please stop sneaking up on me? My heart's gonna give out one of these days!" 

Marco reached through the bars and touched Jean's damp face. "Oh, please don't cry," he said softly. "Were you scared? I'm sorry…" 

"Don't play dumb with me, smartass." Heat immediately rose to Jean's face and he self-consciously rubbed his hands over his cheeks. "You know it's just the smell getting to me," he said gruffly.

Marco laughed softly but there was an edge to the sound that shouldn't be there. Jean frowned with concern. He studied Marco's face and noticed immediately that the smile the older boy wore was just as brittle and unnatural as his laugh. No, strained…? Stressed? Or something like that. Whatever. It didn't really matter. All Jean cared about at that moment was how drained Marco looked. The dark rings beneath his eyes were getting worse and there was a noticeable quaver in Marco's big and warm hands. 

"You're bleeding," Marco said faintly. 

Calloused fingertips brushed firmly over Jean's cheekbones. He rubbed anxiously at the smeared blood until it became clear that there were no injuries to be found there and then, after a slight pause, Marco's chocolate brown eyes flickered down. His face darkened. Marco stared on the arm that Jean was pathetically trying to hide behind his back and, then lunged. He reached through the bars for it but Jean quickly leaned out of range. Marco grunted in pain when he hit the metal bars.

Feeling guilty, Jean shuffled closer and asked, "Hey, Marco…"

"I'm fine. You?" Marco's eyes were cold. "Did they do this to you?" 

"N-no!" Jean denied quickly, unsettled by strange tension humming through Marco's body. "This is the same wound you treated back in the woods. You know, when I tripped?"

Marco looked unconvinced. "It's been a few weeks. It should be healed by now."

"Uh, no, it wouldn't." Jean shook his head. "I'm human and sometimes we take a long time to heal. Here, look." Jean held out his hand, palm up, for Marco to take. "It was starting to but some stitches got torn when I was sh—when I fell." 

Marco hummed and glanced toward the stairs. "So… you said that Eren locked you in here? Why would he do something like that to you?" 

"What? I didn't say that."

Marco's brows furrowed slightly in confusion. "But I'm positive that you jus—"

Jean held up a hand. "Okay, stop right there." 

"Huh? Stop what?" 

"Marco," Jean sighed. "I know what you're trying to do and I'm telling you now, before I get mad, to cut it out. You don't have weasel the truth out of me because I'll tell you what happened. Later. After you calm down." Jean pointed accusingly. "And don't try to deny that you're upset, Marco Bodt. I know what all of your angry faces look like!" 

"O-oh…" Marco looked down at his feet and picked at a loose thread on his shirt. "…'m sorry."

Jean couldn't resist reaching out to prod the freckled cheek that was steadily turning red with embarrassment at being caught. "Dumbass," he said fondly.

Marco mumbled something under his breath and fidgeted. Jean watched him for a few seconds before sighing and turning his attention back to more pressing matters. It was always nice to see Marco again, but Jean had to wonder about the timing. 

"So while we're still on the topic of me being locked up," Jean said conversationally, "why're you here? Dropped by to hang out again? Or…" Jean's voice trailed off. 

His eyes narrowed in suspicion when Marco suddenly got very quiet and still. Marco's eyes flickered up to meet Jean's for a split-second before darting away and Jean's mouth fell open in disbelief. 

"No," Jean croaked. 

Jean's eyes darted up toward the ceiling and stared, fixedly, as if he could see right through the stone to where the entire Scouting Legion was gathered to fight the Titans that came out of nowhere at the worst possible time. Or, perhaps, they appeared with superb timing.

"Marco, no." 

The Scouting Legion would be wholly focused on defending Headquarters from the Titans that were hiding in Trost's Woods. Abnormally intelligent Titans. Aberrant Types that looked just like the Standard Types with no uniquely identifiable features, unlike with Eren. Or with Annie. So not Shifters. But like Shifters, these Titans could disappear as suddenly as they appeared. 

Jean's eyes lowered slowly and he intoned flatly "Marco, tell me I'm wrong. Please." 

Marco rubbed the back of his neck and laughed nervously. "I- I can explain…" 

"God damn it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, this chapter didn't want to get written. I probably spent a month trying to get interrogation to be less clunky (I'm not sure I succeeded). Thank goodness I finally got to a part with Marco because his scenes with Jean are always easy to write. I think I need to relax now by starting a story that's 100% inane fluff.
> 
> Oh, and FYI... Jean really does have a tell. I'll even give you a hint: there is a certain action he does when he's being evasive by telling the truth.


	15. Chapter 15

"You say that you can explain all this? Okay, then let's hear it." Jean crossed his arms. "Explain away." 

Marco looked at the stairs with an anxious expression said, "I don't think this is the best time or place to go into detail, Jean. It won't be long before someone comes back to check on you and there's really no place for me to hide down here, so..." He flashed an apologetic smile. "Later? I'll tell you later." 

Jean shook his head. "Nuh-uh. I'm not falling for that trick again. If you have the time to get all defensive and evasive, then you have the time to give me a basic explanation."

"I really don't have the time for this..." 

Marco groaned tiredly and started patting himself down in search of something he tucked away in one of the jacket's many pockets as he tried come up with an adequate answer. Jean took the opportunity to watch Marco breathe simply because he could. Because Marco was alive, he could breathe. Jean's eyes roamed over Marco's face and body in an attempt to commit enough new details to memory to completely bury the last image of Marco that resided inside Jean's mind. With the exception of the scars, Marco pretty much looked the same as he did before. He was even wearing the regulation uniform and the sight of him in the brown and white was strangely nostalgic... which was completely ridiculous because their Trainee days weren't that far in the past. It shouldn't be a shock to see Marco with something other than the emblem of crossed swords on his chest, and a uniform that wasn't stained in blood and a shirt that used to be white and a body that was torn apart and blindly staring eyes that were glassy and clouded over with—

A scar-roughed hand touched his face. 

"Jean? Jean. Hey, look at me." 

Another hand joined the first and they gently turned Jean's head until he was facing the bars again. Marco's slightly pale face came into view. Jean blinked slowly. He reached up and squeezed Marco's wrists, anchoring himself back in reality by focusing on the uneven warmth radiating from his friend's hands.

"Marco?" Jean croaked.

"That's right," Marco said softly. "You see? I made it out of Trost." A reassuring smile touched Marco's lips but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It took longer than I liked to find you. I really should've tried harder to find a way to contact you, to let you know I was going to be okay, even though I..." Marco looked down, scowling, at his still-healing body. "No, I won't make excuses for the decisions I made. What's important is that—"

"You're alive."

"...Yeah," Marco agreed after a slight pause. "I am. I'm alive and whol... not missing anything important, so you don't have to worry." 

"Nothing important?" Jean squinted, forgetting his grief in the face of such a ridiculous statement. "Marco, you're missing half of your internal organs. That sounds pretty damn important to me."

Marco looked away, guiltily. He jammed his fidgety hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet and mumbled something about priorities and nonessential parts. 

"Nonessential organs, he says." Jean sighed. "Sometimes I think you're the one who needs a babysitter, Marco, not me." 

"I'm not the one who got thrown in a dungeon by his boss and needs to be rescued by the enemy," Marco retorted defensively. "I'm trying to help!"

"Help? Sending Titans to attack the Scouting Legion's headquarters is your idea of helping?"

"For your information, I didn't send anyone. I asked." Marco unlocked the door with the key he found tucked away in his pants pocket and stepped aside. "All I did was ask nicely if someone could do me a favour and distract the Scouting Legion for a while so I could come find you. That's it."

"You weren't aiming to destroy the Science and Research building?" Jean asked as he exited the cell. 

"No! Of course not!" Marco looked horrified by the very suggestion. "I would never condone such a thing and neither would—" he hesitated "—the one I asked to help. That was an accident. An honest to goodness accident." 

Jean wasn't sure if he believed Marco. Humanity was just barely holding onto existence by its metaphorical fingernails and they needed every advantage they could get, which resulted in the creation of Hange Zoe's department. On the other hand, the work of Hange and her subordinates was probably the stuff of nightmares in the eyes of self-aware Titans like Marco. Intellectually understanding the necessity of the sometimes sickeningly cruel experiments she ran wouldn't change Marco's visceral reaction. For Marco and those like him, fellow Titans were being tortured to death in the name of scientific curiosity and it was very easy to argue that destroying Hange's labs, hampering her ability to work, was an ethical thing to do. 

"If you say so," Jean finally said.

"You think I'm lying." Marco didn't even look hurt by the idea that his best friend didn't trust him anymore, just tired. Very, very tired. "That's okay. You don't have to trust me. You don't even have to come with me."

"I don't... I don't understand." Jean scrambled to catch up with Marco when he began to walk away. "You don't want me to come with you? Then why the hell did you risk your life and go to all this trouble?" 

"Because I can't help worrying about you."

"And?" Jean prompted. Marco rarely, if ever, did things for only one reason. 

"And... and I guess I really do want you to leave with me," Marco admitted with a sigh, "but I don't want you to make a decision you'll regret." Marco forced himself to smile. "You haven't even seriously thought about the implications of allying with me, right?" 

"...I did," Jean mumbled. 

Marco, who was about to push open the door leading to the main floor, stopped and looked over his shoulder. He didn't say anything but his chocolate brown eyes seemed to glitter with fond, if exasperated, amusement. Jean immediately bristled defensively and crossed his arms.

"What? So what if it was for stupidly emotional reasons?" Jean said haughtily. "You shouldn't care why I picked you, just that I did!"

"Hmm?" Marco's smile grew wider. "And what 'emotional reasons' might those be?

Jean's face turned crimson and he sputtered, "Wh-who cares?! We don't have time for this, right? You said you were in hurry? Then let's just get going already!"

"Alright. I'll let it go for now," Marco said as he turned back around, "but this conversation isn't over. I want to know what you... oh!" He pulled the cell key out of his pocket. "Right. Um, Jean, could you please stick this in lock to Eren's room for me while I go check for patrols?" 

Confused, Jean took it when Marco pressed it to his hand. "You pick-pocketed Eren? When? How?" 

"I didn't have to," Marco said. "He dropped it. I was going to leave it in the guard room on our way out, but..."

"But?" 

"If I did that, then Eren will get in big trouble for losing it when they discover you missing. The Scouting Legion might even think he had something to do with your escape and try interrogating him for information he doesn't have." Marco shook his head. "It wouldn't be right to get him involved like that so I figure it's best to make it look like Eren just... forgot to take it with him? People forget their keys in the lock all the time, right? It's a normal mistake. It's not something worth punishing."

"I don't think Captain Levi's going to buy that excuse." 

Jean looked skeptical but he still obediently went to leave the key in Eren's door. But first, Jean made a quick detour to his former cell at the other end of the hallway to make sure that it was locked and in the same condition it was in when he and Eren arrived. Satisfied, Jean made his way back to where Marco was keeping watch at the upstairs door. 

"Done."

Marco smiled. He slipped through the door, locking it once Jean was through, before leading the way through the empty guard room to a rarely used side hallway. Jean could hear the sounds of rumbling in the distance but it was impossible to tell if the source was a Titan or the storm. Rain continued the batter the old building in waves that rose and fell in volume as fierce winds whistled through the cracks in the walls. Jean found himself drifting closer to Marco as they walked through the silent hallways. It was eerie. Unnatural. Even with the diminished number of soldiers, it was still unusual for any of the Scouting Legion's buildings to be completely silent because there were always guards on patrol or officers staying up late to finish their work or something. Jean shivered with unease but Marco continued walking down the hall at a sedate pace with his head held high. He wasn't sure if it was all an act or if Marco's confidence was because he never made it past the Trainee Corps so he didn't know better, but whatever the reason, it was comforting. At least one of them looked like he knew what he was doing. 

"In here," Marco said as he pushed open the door to a storage room. 

"What're we doing now?" Jean asked as he looked around at the shelves. "Meeting someone?"

"No, you're getting dressed." Marco pointed at Jean's chest. "I didn't want to say anything but your shirt is so thin that I can see your nipples. You'll get sick if you go outside wearing nothing but that." Marco reached behind a box in the corner and pulled out a suspiciously familiar chunky red sweater and a uniform jacket. "Here. Put these on while I see if I can find another set of gear for you."

"I knew it!" Jean laughed as he caught the tossed bundle of clothes. "I knew didn't lose Granny's sweater in the move! You sticky-fingered thief."

"You said I could have one of your old sweaters and that is the only one I've never see you wear before, so I figured..." Marco looked really uncomfortable. "Did I guess wrong?"

"No, it's fine." Jean waved off Marco's fears after thinking about it. "You can have it."

"But wasn't this a gift? I mean, the label's got your name on it and everything."

"It's fine. You don't know how much Granny loves knitting," Jean assured him. "If I really want another one, all I have tell Mom in passing that I outgrew that one and she'll immediately run off to tell Granny and then a new sweater will appear in, like, two weeks? Three, tops."

Satisfied by the explanation, Marco returned to his search. Jean, in the meantime, busied himself with getting properly dressed and bandaging the still-bleeding cut on his hand with gauze found tucked away on one of the shelves. It didn't take long before Marco returned with two sets of 3DMG and harnesses in his arms with a triumphant smile. He handed one set – the one that looked normal – to Jean with a stern look that said "don't argue" and claimed the rusty looking gear for himself. They were probably sets of gear found in Garrison's "blades and gas" bribes from the old days. 

"So..." Marco said, pointedly looking away so he wouldn't be tempted to help Jean equip the gear, "what took you so long to get back from Eren's room? Were you messing around in there?"

"Mikasa would break my nose if I tried to pull something." 

"I see..." Marco glanced over and saw that Jean finally untangled the harness straps. "Then what were you doing?"

"Hopefully buying us more time to get away," Jean said as he tightened the belts. "It's really a very simple trick."

Marco hummed absently as he watched Jean bend over to adjust the fit of the straps on his legs. 

"You still don't get it? Okay then, it's like this. It's weird for someone breaking out of jail to go to the trouble of locking the door on the way out and returning the keys, yeah?" Jean pulled on his boots. "Especially for someone with my reputation." He shook out the jacket and tugged it on over the layers of shirts. "That means the Scouting Legion investigators will have to waste time checking if this all points toward a more complex plan than exists in reality—" he strapped on the final mechanical pieces of the gear and dusted off his hands "—or if I was just dicking around." 

There was a frozen smile on Marco's face when Jean turned around to declare he was ready to go. Marco's brown eyes were wide and they were stared straight into Jean's own and his freckled cheeks looked redder than normal. Suspicious. Jean narrowed his eyes and Marco's grew impossibly wider.

"Marco, were you just—" 

"We should get going!" Marco said loudly. He clapped his hands and whirled away to grab a satchel that was resting on top of a box and fussed with the bag's clasps. "My friend can only buy so much time before the Scouting Legion will get suspicious and realize they're not dealing with a normal Titan."

"Hey, don't you change the subject! Did you even hear a single word I said just now?" 

"You set up a trick that would make the Scouting Legion's investigators waste time," Marco glanced over his shoulder. "R-right?"

Reluctantly, Jean nodded. "Yeah, but—"

"Let's not waste any more time," Marco said quickly. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if my friend died out there because we were standing around here chit-chatting." 

Jean held up a hand. "Hold on a second there, Marco." 

"What is it now," Marco said impatiently. 

Jean hesitated before admitting, "I don't know if this is a good idea." 

It was one thing to break out of jail when there were Titans attacking Headquarters. He could pass of his actions as a desire to go help or fear of being crushed inside the building if the fight went wrong. It was another thing entirely to be seen leaving in the company of Marco. A Titan infiltrator. The enemy of Humanity, maybe. There would be no going back from this decision if anyone saw them together. 

Marco stilled. He curled into himself like he was trying to disappear and hugged that dirty bag to his chest like it was something precious and mumbled "okay" in a heavily accented voice that was barely above a whisper. "You should go back before they notice you're gone." 

He should. 

Jean should accept the out Marco was generously providing and go back to his cell to await judgement. He shouldn't throw away everything he managed to build during the last couple months. It was hard on his mom when he suddenly decided to join the Scouting Legion. Could he really put her through the worse shame of having her son turn traitor to Humanity? And it was not just his mom. There were people in the Scouting Legion who depended on him now and who actually liked him enough to call him their friend and Jean didn't want to disappoint those people either.

But on the other hand, he couldn't abandon Marco. 

It wouldn't be right, not after all he did. Marco endured three long years filled with breaking up fights and bandaging injuries and soothing bruised egos and constantly defending his choice in friends. He bore the burden of being Jean's best friend with astounding grace and patience. 

All those years ago, when they first met, Jean thought what Marco was offering a simple friendship of convenience – an agreement to be the other's first pick in partners for assignments and seating arrangements and other little things like that – so he agreed without a second thought. He didn't think Marco's cheerful friendliness could be genuine but he quickly learned just how wrong he was. What Marco wanted wasn't a sycophantic relationship where they only acted as friends so long as it served both their interests, but a true friendship. He wanted the kind of friendship where they could speak their minds and disagree and fight about things both stupid and serious and then, at the end of the day, still want to hang out together. 

And out of everyone he could have asked, the one Marco wanted to be his best friend was Jean Kirstein.

The ungrateful bastard who spat on their friendship because Marco took too long to pull off a miracle. 

Of course Marco didn't say anything earlier; it wasn't his secret alone to tell! Anyone with a lick of good sense would know better than to approach a place filled with elite soldiers who were all paid to hunt down people just like him. And not only that, the ones responsible for actually murdering Marco back in Trost were still at on the loose. Jean was willing to bet that they were Annie's accomplices and same the spies that Commander Erwin was looking for and they were in hiding somewhere inside the Scouting Legion, right under their noses. If they found out their victim survived the attack...

So Marco was risking not only his life, but those of the other Titans like him every single time he ventured into the proverbial lion's den. And for what reason? To visit his whiny and ungrateful so-called best friend who was a constant source of worry and stress. 

Jean really wanted things to be different between them this time, but he really couldn't see a path to take would make Marco completely happy. Choose the Scouting Legion? Marco feels guilty for unnecessarily burdening Jean with the knowledge that he survived the Battle of Trost only to be refused help by his best friend. Choose to leave with Marco? Marco feels guilty for costing Jean his career and his new friends and forcing him to pick a side. 

If the freckled nuisance will feel bad no matter what, the decision ultimately came down to what could Jean himself live with, and...

Wait.

Didn't Jean already make his choice? He did. He was sure he did. Jean made his choice weeks ago and Marco even said at the time that he'd stop going "Are you sure? Are you sure?" and yet here they were having the same argument again.

So Jean walked over and punched Marco in the right shoulder as hard as possible. 

"AH!" Marco shrieked and clutched his arm to his chest. "That's my injured side, you ass! If you ruptured something—"

"You deserve it," Jean said, "for doubting me."

Marco scowled. "What? I do not!" 

"You do," Jean insisted. "I get why you're doing it, though. You're a Titan and the natural enemy of Humanity and me, being a soldier of the Scouting Legion, shouldn't be so friendly with you. It's a bad move for both of us to be friends again." 

"Exactly," Marco grunted. "That's exactly why you should walk away." 

"And I'm telling you, again, that I don't care," Jean snapped. 

"You should!"

"Look," Jean growled, punctuating each statement by jabbing Marco's scarred chest with a finger, "I had to carry your body to the corpse wagon and watch it get wheeled away to be burned. I had to pack up all your personal belongings to send to your family in Jinae so they could have something to bury. I threw away my chance at a safe and happy life in the Interior because I wanted to make you proud! I did all that for you, to honour your memory, only to find out that you were alive all this time and you're a Titan that can survive just about anything, seems like, even stuff that stupidly lucky bastards like Eren can't... meaning I went through all that shit for nothing!"

Marco shrank away with wide, scared eyes. 

"I'll be seeing your half-eaten and rotting corpse in my nightmares for the rest of my goddamn life for no good reason!" Jean forced himself to stop and take a deep breath before releasing it slowly. "You know what?"

"Wh-what," he said in a small voice. 

"I could've walked away or blown your cover at any time I wanted but I didn't. I confronted you in the library with full knowledge of what I was risking. You fucked up a lot but that's okay because I like—" Jean stopped, interrupted by a loud rumble that he hoped was only thunder, before continuing with "—I still trust you, so you're forgiven. Now let's get going already, yeah?" Jean patted Marco on the left shoulder as he walked past. "Are we going to hide in Trost's woods again or somewhere else? I vote somewhere else because that's the first place the Scouting Legion's going to look." 

"J- Jean! Wait, I heard that! You can't just say something like that and then act like it's nothing!" Marco lunged and grabbed tight. "It's... it's rude!"

"Really? You, of all people, are saying this to me," Jean said dryly.

"I... uh." Marco faltered. "I can explain?"

"It can wait." Jean smiled briefly before reminding them both about the reality that was waiting outside. "Your friend might be in serious trouble out there and guards might be looking for me right this second, remember? We should leave." 

Exhaustion pulled down Marco's broad shoulders and bowed his back. He nodded and said, "I guess do I still owe you an explanation about what I am and what we're up to and... a lot of things that could take a while to get through." 

Marco sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking like he wanted to say something else, before shaking his head firmly. 

"Are you okay?" Jean hesitated. "If you need a minute..." 

"It's fine," Marco said, smiling like he was trying to convince himself, "this can wait. Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little on the short side, but the next scene is an action one that's very quickly growing out of control. I decided to shift the fight to the next chapter and stop this one here so the chapter didn't end up being a 10,000 word update.


	16. Chapter 16

A short while later, the pair found themselves pressed shoulder-to-shoulder as they peered through the door's small reinforced window. The storm clouds that had persistently hung overhead for the last couple days were so dense that it looked like night outside, which forced the Scouting Legion to divert a few soldiers from combat so they could keep the area well-lit. The majority of the lanterns were at ground level but a few puddles of warm light were at a height that suggested soldiers were standing in trees or hanging off the side of buildings. It wasn't possible to see Marco's friend from their angle but they could feel the vibrations of the Titan's movements in the ground. 

"How long was I stuck underground?" Jean stared at the dark clouds with a look of disbelief. "I could've sworn it was morning a little while ago." 

"A few hours," Marco replied. "It's afternoon now. I would've been here sooner, but we didn't hear anything specific about what the Scouting Legion was up to until a little while ago." 

Jean shifted his stare over to Marco. 

"You heard I was being interrogated?" And when Marco nodded in confirmation, Jean immediately followed up with a harsh demand of "how?" 

The interrogation had come as a surprise to everyone, even those who were normally in the loop about such things. The only people allowed to leave were on the executive officers' hand-picked squads. If there were Titan informants hidden amongst the regular soldiers and staff, they wouldn't be able to get a message outside without going through one of Commander Smith's men. Nor would it be possible for Marco or any of his informants to pass themselves off as civilian staff because the kitchen was empty and that was the only place in the cafeteria that civilians were allowed to work. Jean couldn't figure out how Marco managed to get past an information blackout that was personally enforced by Captain Levi. 

Marco tensed under Jean's scrutiny. He gave an awkward little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. "I-intuition?" he mumbled.

Jean generously decided that he wouldn't point out what a pitiful attempt at a lie that was. He knew intellectually that Marco had to be good at his job – he managed to live under the watchful eye of the Scouting Legion's former commander for three years without rousing any suspicion, after all – but Jean couldn't help but worry. How the hell had a terrible liar like Marco managed to get so far without getting caught? Luck? It was luck, wasn't it. Jean could feel the beginnings of a stress headache forming.

"Whatever," Jean grumbled, mentally adding 'you stupidly lucky bastard'. "Can you see what's going on out there?" 

Marco pointed somewhere off to the left and said, "It looks like my friend is near what's left of the Science and Research building. He's probably trying to pass himself off as an especially clumsy and uncoordinated Titan."

Jean thought about the movements of the Titans he saw in Trost and on the plains and remembered the strange feeling he got from the Aberrant Types in the Trost Woods. The Titans he and Sasha encountered had shown unusual jumps in intelligence and behaviour. How many of those were actual mindless Titans and how many were Marco's friends? 

"Is your friend a good actor?" Jean asked.

"No. Goodness, no!" Marco laughed. "He's absolutely terrible! What he is, however, is a genuine klutz. We weren't planning to go anywhere near... uh. That brown-haired science lady's..." 

"Hange Zoe," Jean supplied. 

"Ms. Zoe's building but, well, you heard what happened." Marco shook his head. "I'll bet you anything that the destruction is an accident."

Jean found it difficult to believe that sentient Titans would pass up on a chance to destroy the research of Humanity's leading expert on how to more efficiently kill Titans, but Marco didn't seem to be lying. He looked annoyed and a bit like he was in pain, but that wasn't the face of someone lamenting a lost opportunity. Jean knew exactly what that expression meant, unfortunately. It was the look of Marco mentally calculating damages and trying to decide on an appropriate apology gift to send on his friend's behalf. Which was bad news. Jean couldn't imagine any scenario where the Scouting Legion would react well to a surprise package sent by a someone who just kidnapped one of their soldiers and crushed one of their most important buildings. 

"Hey, Marco? Will your original escape plan work?" Jean asked, hoping that subject change would be sufficient distraction. 

"My plan? I don't think..." Marco's eyes drifted toward the ceiling as he considered the question. "No, it won't. Not anymore. Originally, we were going to take advantage of the fewer patrols and the gaps in surveillance and just walk out of here. No fighting, or anything. Nobody would even notice that something was wrong until they checked the cell later and found you missing." Marco's face fell. "But now... now, I don't know what to do."

Marco looked so worried about the lack of a plan that Jean blurted out "I have an idea" just to wipe that look off his friend's face. It worked. Marco immediately perked up at the words and Jean found himself torn between feeling pleased for being able to make Marco smile like that, and annoyed with himself for speaking without thinking.

"Really?" Marco said.

"Yeah," Jean said with fake confidence as his mind frantically reviewed everything he knew about the current situation. "I do."

Jean remembered how Hange had immediately ran off when she heard which building was being attacked and that Moblit had gone after her. Jean also remembered how Captain Levi was strangely reluctant to take advantage of the overabundance of soldiers ready to move out at a moment's notice to answer the threat of a Titan rampaging inside Headquarters. Given that Levi never showed reluctance to assume command before, there had to be another reason. Something was tying Levi's hands and with Hange too distracted to step in, that meant there was still a chance that he and Marco would be able to escape with their lives if luck was on their side. 

Good. If he didn't have to worry about Levi too, that would make things much easier. What Jean wanted to avoid most of all was a direct confrontation because fighting Titans was one thing. Trying to injure or kill fellow humans was another. 

"Hey, Marco? Does your friend know about that rusted gear?" 

Marco nodded, able to follow Jean's train of thought with ease, and answered the other questions Jean had not yet voiced. 

"This might be the same gear you saw me use in the woods," Marco said, "but I replaced some parts so it's not as bad as it was." He paused. "Okay, yes, it's still really noisy but I brought it along for a reason. A good reason! Don't give me that look. I need to use this gear specifically because my friend's Titan eyes aren't very good but his hearing is excellent. With this, he'll easily be able to pick me out from a crowd." 

"Okay, that's good and all," Jean said slowly. "but what about me? Don't I have to worry about getting swatted out of the sky if I get too close?" 

"I did tell him about you on the way over, but with all this..." Marco waved a hand, visibly struggling to come up with a proper word to describe the chaotic situation before giving up. "He might not remember why we're here. I guess you should keep your distance and let me talk to him." 

"Great," Jean grunted.

"I'm sorry?" Marco's smile wavered. "I didn't mean to make things so difficult." 

"Forget it," Jean snapped. "It's fine. I'll think of something." Jean ran a hand through his hair. "Do you guys at least have a prearranged signal or something to say it's time to go?" 

"No. No, we don't. We don't because this wasn't supposed to happen!" 

Jean jerked upright, wide-eyed with alarm. All he could do was watch helplessly as the older boy's calm façade began to crumble under the strain. Marco's eyes were fixed rigidly on the grain of the door and his body shook with tension. Marco's hands quickly balled into fists to conceal their shaking. 

"He was supposed to be gone by now," Marco cried out. "Nobody was supposed to get hurt or end up in danger!" His words were growing thick with a familiar-yet-unknown accent. "If I only took the time to come up with a real plan, maybe we..." Marco sucked in an unsteady breath and broke off that thought. "But then I heard you were caught and I... I panicked. I couldn't stop thinking about what they could do to you." Marco's eyes rose to meet Jean's for a split-second before darting away. "We know what they've done to fellow humans that they want answers from. It's horrifying! What do you think would happen if they thought you were like me? Like us?" Marco squeezed his eyes shut. "You saw what they do to Eren and he's someone they need for their plans! For the future of Humanity! But you?" Marco's voice broke. "You're nothing special in the Scouting Legion's eyes. If they thought you were not only a traitor and a spy, but a Titan, like me—" 

Jean lunged across the space that had sprung up between them and grabbed Marco by the shoulders. 

"Hey," Jean said in his most soothing voice, "it's okay. Stop worrying. You already broke me out of prison and I'm leaving with you, so all that stuff's not going to happen. Okay?" He gave Marco a little shake. "You hear me? You said that this is the kind of situation I'm good at dealing with, right? So trust me and I'll get us out of this."

Marco reached up slowly, giving Jean more than enough time to move away or say something in protest, but Jean stood his ground. He refused to react when Marco curling his fingers around his friend's thinner wrists and held on like he was drowning and Jean was his only anchor. Marco didn't say anything. He just stared at Jean with wide, chocolate brown eyes that looked worryingly bright and damp. Jean stomped down his own lingering concerns and focused on meeting Marco's searching eyes evenly. 

Jean flashed a grin that bordered on cocky arrogance and tightened his grip on Marco's shoulders and said, "got it?" 

Marco blinked slowly. His smile was slow to reappear and when it finally did, it was far too tentative and fragile-looking for Jean's liking, but return it did. 

"Yeah," Marco said in a soft voice. "Thank you."

"H-hey, you've talked me down from worse freak-outs than that." Jean shrugged, not wanting to think about how rare it was for their roles to be reversed like this. "It's only fair that I return the favour." 

Marco's eyes finally slid away from Jean's and was now resting on the small window set in the door. 

"Okay," Marco said in his usual voice. "Is there anything else you need to ask before we get going?"

"One thing." Jean hesitated, needing a moment to convince himself of the necessity of the question before he managed to ask "Can you Shift?"

"I- I can't," Marco stammered. 

A lie. A terrible one too. Jean wanted to drop the matter immediately, once he saw Marco's reaction, but he couldn't. Not in this situation. All they had at their disposal to pull off an escape from the heart of the base of Humanity's most elite soldiers were: two sets of rusty old 3DMG, one uncoordinated-but-intelligent Titan, one new recruit about to turn Traitor to Humanity, and one trainee who was still officially recorded as "Killed In Action". Marco's Titan abilities was the only real unknown variable and possible advantage they had. Jean forced himself to ask for more details.

"Can't, because your body doesn't work that way? Or can't because you don't want to?" 

"I don't wanna," Marco admitted with surprisingly little prodding. "But, Jean, please try to understand that I'm not saying this to be difficult. I can't—I mean, I don't want to Shift because my Titan body looks exactly like me. Younger me." Marco's hands slid away from Jean's. "Everyone who saw what I looked like when I enlisted will figure it out instantly and I..." Marco lowered his head and his voice. "I don't want them to find out about me like this. I'm not naive enough to think that everyone will take the news as well as you—" 

Jean winced and tried to interrupt. "Uh, Marco?" 

"—but I will if you think it's necessary!" Marco blurted out, misinterpreting Jean's pained expression as a sign of something more dire. "Really, I will. But if I may ask, can I hear your reasons first? Please. You don't have to say anything, of course, since you don't owe me anything. You have every right to demand answers after everything I did. I'm just curious..." 

Jean's guilt grew worse the more Marco babbled and tripped over his own words in the rush to make amends for something he didn't have to apologize for. Marco wasn't the one who should apologize. Jean was the one in the wrong. Jean should apologize, because of the reasons that lay behind asking the question in the first place. 

Because Jean wanted Marco's Titan-self to be seen. 

Ideally, one of the 104th would see it but it wouldn't be a problem if they didn't. All he need to happen was for one of them to hear about the presence of a male Titan with black hair and brown eyes and freckles and Jean's sudden disappearance would make sense. Connie knew that Jean was still haunted by nightmares about the Battle of Trost, Sasha thought that Jean was starting to lose grip on reality because he kept asking weird questions, and Armin knew how easy it was to get Jean to do things he normally would never agree to, all thanks to that stupid Eren-body-double plan. Any one of them could put forth a convincing argument that Jean was so mentally and emotionally compromised that he couldn't be held fully responsible for his actions. Desertion from the Scouting Legion could be spun into a moment of grief-induced insanity. 

In other words: a contingency plan. One that would allow Jean to abandon Marco at any time and step back into his old life, should Marco prove to be an untrustworthy ally. One that had formed without conscious input from Jean, yes, but that wasn't an acceptable excuse. Jean still came up with the plan and tried to set it in motion.

He wanted to apologize.

Jean wanted to apologize, badly, but keeping silent was probably the better course of action. Marco knew him too well, after all. Marco would hear all of the words that weren't being said. He might even agree with Jean's paranoid side's assessment that Marco was someone to be wary around regardless of how many times he proved his worth – that Marco was no longer worthy of any human's trust. Marco would sacrifice his own safety for the sake of Jean's peace-of-mind without hesitation because that was the kind of guy he was. 

Unfortunately, even without saying anything, Marco was picking up on Jean's worries. He looked seconds away from suggesting something stupidly self-sacrificing, so Jean had to act fast. If he heard Marco's suggestion and it was indeed the overall safer and wiser option to take, Jean would feel compelled to go along with it. Therefore, he needed to come up with a way to turn the entire Shifter topic into something Marco would never ever want to revisit. The question was: how? One method came to mind but it was so juvenile and potentially humiliating that Jean scrambled to think of anything else. 

And of course Marco had to choose that exact moment to shout "say something!" in an tone that demanded an immediate response. 

"It's fine," Jean blurted out. "You don't need to Shift. I was just curious." 

"About?" Marco narrowed his eyes, rightfully suspicious of Jean. 

"Uh. Well, you said you're a 'Titan' not a 'Shifter', right? That implies that you're different somehow. So..." Jean cringed internally as he plastered the sleaziest leer he could muster on his face. "I was wondering if, you know, Giant Naked You has a body like a normal Titan's or if your—"

"JEAN!" Marco's freckles completely disappeared into the vibrant red that flooded his cheeks. "How could you think of such a thing at a time like this?! You should be ashamed of yourself! Shame on you! Get your mind out of the gutter!" 

"Hey, you asked." Jean laughed, just as embarrassed and horrified by his words as Marco was, but significantly better at concealing it. "So...?"

"I refuse," Marco hissed, blushing and refusing to meet Jean's eyes for entirely different reasons now. "Think of some other way."

Thankfully, the diversion bought Jean enough time to come up with a real plan. 

"Okay then. Let's go with this," Jean said. "First, you'll head over to the battle site and pass yourself off as one of Commander Smith's spies that got left behind." 

"Spies?" Marco echoed. "Oh! Are you referring to the people I asked you about? The ones heading to the Interior?"

Jean nodded. "I'd bet money that they're being sent to keep tabs on what the Military Police and Garrison are up to. If these guys are so deep undercover that the rest of the Scouting Legion doesn't even know they exist, it's safe to assume that they don't know much about what the other teams are up to. And haven't you guys been tracking their movements for a while now? It's possible that you know more about these secret teams' missions than the normal soldier does, so it shouldn't be hard for you to trick them into thinking you're one of them."

"What if I run into one of the higher ranked officers?" Marco asked. "Like Ms. Zoe, or that Captain Levi person? They'll know I'm lying." 

"I think Levi will stay out of this because he needs to keep order inside the cafeteria. Yeah... that's right. He has to." Jean nodded to himself. "They managed to surprise everyone this morning with the 'inspection' so nobody had time to come up with alibis or hide incriminating shit. There's got to be more people than me who got caught breaking the rules. Levi can't help with the fight because he's got to keep an eye on all the suspects. The only officers you have to worry about are Hange Zoe and Moblit, her Second-in-Command, but they'll probably be busy trying to save their research." 

"Alright. I'll blend in with the soldiers and find an excuse to get close enough to talk to my friend," Marco confirmed. "What will you be doing? Following me like a subordinate?"

Jean shook his head. "Everyone knows what the new recruits look like, thanks to all those stupid infantry drills they made us do. I'd blow your cover if I tag along."

"Then you'll be...?" Marco prompted. 

"Off grabbing the really incriminating shit," Jean said, suddenly remembering the strange book he found in the veterans' lounge and crammed into the depths of the overstuffed couch.

Jean realized now that the book was the same one Marco said he was looking for. His favourite novel. The one with the red and gold cover that was... was written in a language not found inside the Walls. Fuck. How did he never notice that before? Jean couldn't decide if he was the most idiotic person alive or the densest, because Marco must've read that particular book in front of him hundreds of times. Marco even (happily) translated the contents whenever Jean got bored enough to ask. Translated. From a language that no other human could read. Damn, did he ever feel stupid. 

Marco mumbled "I see" with a concerned expression on his face. It was obvious that the freckled nuisance wanted to press the issue and ask a bunch of questions but, thankfully, he had good manners. All it took was one tired glare from Jean and Marco dropped the matter without further comment. He just rubbed the back of his neck and gave an awkward little laugh.

"Um... I should probably stop stalling and go out there, huh?" Marco said. 

"Oh. Yeah, I guess so," Jean said reluctantly, nodding in agreement. He started walking away from Marco but he only managed to get a few steps away before turning back around. "I just need to grab a few important things before we leave, okay? Then I'll come meet you. I promise. So... uh... you be careful out there. Got it? Don't do anything stupid like getting caught. I'm not good at engineering jail breaks." 

"It'll be fine, Jean. We can handle this." Marco smiled and made a shooing motion. "Now get going. The sooner you grab our stuff, the sooner we can leave."

Jean dithered for a few seconds longer before he gave a curt nod and left. Marco patiently waited by the door and smiled reassuringly whenever Jean looked back. He waited until he was absolutely certain that his friend wasn't going to change his mind and turn around before finally allowing his true nervousness to show. Marco pressed a hand on his chest and took several deep breaths, trying to calm his anxiously pounding heart before he could get too light-headed. Once his breath and pulse were back under control, Marco left the safety of the building and headed outside. 

The storm was beginning to ease up. The winds were as fierce as they were earlier, but the rain was no longer falling in frigid sheets that were unbearably cold even to someone with Marco's sturdier-than-normal body. Someone dressed as lightly as Jean had been would be frozen in seconds. It was fortunate that Jean decided to run an errand before leaving because by the time he was done, the worst of the storm would be passed. Using 3DMG in the middle of a rainstorm was one of the most miserable parts of training. 

Marco was thankful that even if the situation deteriorated to the point where combat was necessary, at least they didn't have to do it with freezing rain blowing in their faces. 

It didn't take long for him to cross the muddy yard to a spot lit up with an array of unevenly spaced metal lanterns. The majority of them were at ground level, where they illuminated the bodies of the older soldiers holding them, but a couple were several meters off the ground. Roof level. The light was bright enough to see that the majority of the soldiers crouched on the roofs of the neighbouring buildings (the Scouting Legion's library and a building whose purpose Marco never managed to figure out). There were only two soldiers holding a lanterns who were standing near the remnants of Ms. Zoe's research lab. One was held by a soldier standing on the partially collapsed roof. The other was held by a tall man with goggles that was hovering behind an extremely anxious looking man who was trying to restrain a screaming brown-haired woman by wrapping his arms around her waist and digging in his heels. 

It was difficult to see which one was having more success: the woman who looked hell-bent on charging into a badly damaged building that had a dazed looking Titan sitting in it, or the anxious man who was now shouting at the man with the goggles to do something. Marco guessed that the woman was Ms. Zoe and the anxious man trying to stop her was Moblit, the Second-in-Command. The man with the goggles was probably also a member of Squad Zoe, judging from the way his shoulders sagged as he went to obey Moblit's order, so it would be best to avoid him as well. 

Marco slowed to a jog when he realized that his Titan friend wasn't the only person to notice the new arrival on the scene. A few soldiers saw Marco approach and they watched him with a mixture of guarded curiosity and suspicion. Marco lifted a hand in greeting and then, almost in unison, the soldiers looked away. Many of them turned their attention toward Ms. Zoe, as was to be expected seeing that she was the highest ranked person present, but a few who looked to Moblit for guidance. Interestingly, there were some who completely bypassed the two highest ranked soldiers in favour of looking at the soldier standing on the partially collapsed roof.

That was the Jean of the group, Marco decided. 

This person wasn't the most talented or popular member of the squad, but he was reliable. Dependable. Someone who had perhaps landed his current position due to a lucky break but had since proved himself worthy of the responsibility. He was someone deserving of command and respect but had felt like it was a burden he wasn't capable of bearing, so he futilely tried to hide amongst his peers. Ms. Zoe might be the leader and Moblit the one who actually got the day-to-day tasks done, but this was the one whose words could sway the opinions of the group as a whole. 

Convincing this person would mean the difference between a peaceful escape and having to fight their way out.

Marco landed lightly on the roof and walked over to where the solider with the lantern was standing. The guy already schooled his expression into something neutral and unreadable. Marco waved again as soon as they were a respectable distance apart but the man didn't return the gesture.

"Good afternoon," Marco said, pitching his voice down and altering his accent to the crisp syllables used by those hailing from Wall Sina. "It appears that you're in need of some assistance."

"Yeah," the guy said. "And who're you?" 

"I'm from... you know. Them." Marco coughed and feigned embarrassment, turning his head so the hood would conceal the distinctive scarring on his face. "One of Garrison's guys caught me trying to leave and sent me back." 

"Alone? Why didn't you just take off the second that Garrison left?" 

Marco folded his fidgeting hands behind his back and shook his head. "Because they were yelling at me from on top of the wall," he improvised. "I'm pretty sure they were watching me the whole way back in hopes of seeing something worth complaining to Commander Smith about." 

The guy's eyes narrowed and for a terrifying couple seconds, Marco thought he must have said the wrong thing. Something contradictory that proved he wasn't actually a soldier of the Scouting Legion, maybe? Marco tensed in preparation of a fight but, fortunately, it turned out that the guy was only preparing a look of utter disgust and contempt. 

"Fucking Garrison," the guy snarled as he turned his attention back toward the Titan. "Okay, since you're here, make yourself useful. Look there."

Marco joined the soldier standing at the edge of the roof and obediently looked down, only half listening to the soldier's words as he studied the scene for himself. 

The Titan body of his friend was sitting in the remnants of the Scouting Legion's research building. Most of the building was still intact but one side of it was completely crushed, allowing the rain and wind from the storm to wreck havoc on the sensitive projects and research documents inside. That was probably what Ms. Zoe and Moblit were most concerned about. At first glance it appeared that the Titan struck the building with a swing of his arms before attempting to crush it bodily when it failed to collapse but to Marco's experienced eyes, it was obvious that his clumsy friend had not seen the shallow pit used as a staging area for Ms. Zoe's outdoor experiments and tripped. He tried to catch himself by grabbing the building only to realize it wasn't as built as sturdily as the ones in Trost, and ruined it. 

That was probably when the Scouting Legion realized they were "under attack" and moved to deal with the problem. The Titan was stuck staying where he was because if his friend stood up and tried to leave, he would be exposing the back of his neck to the deadliest soldiers Humanity had to offer. He had to pretend to be an nothing more than an especially stupid Titan while hoping that Marco would notice something went wrong with their plan and come rescue him. He would occasionally flail a limb or act like he was going to go on the attack to keep the soldiers at a distance but beyond that, he wasn't moving.

Marco wasn't sure if his friend already realized who the new arrival was. He could think that Marco was just another soldier sent as backup from the cafeteria if the sound of his rusty gear was drowned out by the storm. Either way, whether he knew it was Marco or not, he had to buy time for Jean before they could all make their escape. 

"So you're saying that nobody saw where this Titan came from?" Marco asked after Ms. Zoe's soldier stopped talking. "Not even the perimeter guards?"

"It got through a gap in patrols that never should've been there." The guy glared over his shoulder as he spoke but Marco couldn't tell if the guy was now directing his ire at the soldiers still inside the cafeteria, or at the structure looming in distance where Garrison was holed up to wait out the storm. 

"What's it doing?" 

"Being a pain in the ass," The guy said, comfortable enough with Marco's presence that he felt free to complain. "We can't kill it because of how the building's rubble is blocking the neck and we can't just ignore it and go inside to save what's left of our research. Who knows if the building'll come crashing down on our heads suddenly if that thing goes mental and starts smashing shit. What we need" –he raised his voice to shout– "is someone to go find the Captain's pet Titan and tell him to GET TO WORK!"

Marco winced and prayed that nobody would listen to the order. There was no way that Eren would let them leave without a fight. First, he would attack the Titan under the mistaken assumption that it was nothing more than just another stupid monster that needed to be put down, and Marco would be forced to intervene. His existence would be revealed. And then, because a fight with Eren's Titan would draw a lot of attention, Jean would come rushing out to help because they were friends. And allies. But what would happen if Jean had to look his new teammates and friends in the eye and openly take Marco's side? It was one thing to declare loyalty when it was just the two of them. What if—

Marco shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the fears before they could take root. 

"Please, allow me to try something," Marco said. "It doesn't appear interested in chasing anybody but it is a Titan. It is sure to react if someone gets within grabbing range."

"And that someone is you?" The guy looked skeptical and a bit concerned. "What makes you think that one guy will be able to get its interest when almost an entire squad can't?" 

"Maybe this is a lazy one that only goes after what's right in front of it?" Marco shrugged. "Or it might be impaled on something and is physically unable to get up. I won't know what is the case until I get closer. Trust me," Marco said with the reassuring smile he usually reserved for exclusive use on a cranky and stubborn Jean Kirstein, "I'll be fine."

The soldier with the lantern frowned and looked back at where Moblit and the man with the goggles were still trying to keep Hange Zoe from charging into the damaged building. There would be no assistance found there. The soldier then shifted his attention to the men scattered on the ground and on the roofs before him and saw that the gathered soldiers were all carefully avoiding his gaze, hoping to avoid being picked as the one who should carry out Marco's plan in his stead. The soldier heaved a world-weary sigh and flapped a hand at Marco.

"Knock yourself out," the soldier said. "Just be careful. I don't want to explain to Captain Zoe or Commander Smith why one of the special teams is suddenly short a man."

Marco saluted sharply and said "You can count on me!" before starting off at a brisk walk toward the destroyed section of the roof. He managed to trick the de-facto commander of the defense operation into thinking he was a member of Commander Smith's secretive teams, but it wasn't safe to break character yet. There were many other soldiers present who had not heard their exchange or, if they had, were not as easily convinced by it. Marco had to keep up the act until he got close enough to tell his friend that it was time to leave. 

Of course, he still had no idea how Jean was planning to get the three of them away but he had faith that Jean would come through in the end. 

Somehow. 

Marco stopped moving as soon as he felt the roof creaking and shifting beneath his weight. He was too far away to talk without shouting and with the poor light, it wouldn't be possible for his features to be seen with the kind of eyes his friend's Titan body was stuck with. He had to get closer but there wasn't a safe way to do so. The way the building had collapsed around the Titan did have the effect of keeping his friend's true body safe from being attacked by the Scouting Legion soldiers but, on the other hand, the Titan itself was what was keeping the building from collapsing. 

Oh, Marco thought, so that was the real reason his friend wasn't moving. He wasn't injured or scared; he didn't know if Ms. Zoe's research building was empty and didn't want to risk killing innocent people by standing up. 

Jean said that everyone else in the Scouting Legion was supposed to be locked in the cafeteria, but it was possible that other researchers had the same idea as their Captain and charged inside despite the danger. The situation could have changed in those hours when Jean was trapped in a cell below ground. Marco had to check for himself, so he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stretched out his Titan senses. Originally, Marco was no better at detecting the presence of humans than the Standard Types were but Jean changed that. Three years spent as the best friend and sole confidante of someone prone to wandering off, alone, to sulk in places that few people even knew existed —someone who possessed a truly abysmal sense of direction and lacked the self-awareness to acknowledge it— well, Marco had no choice but to get better. A lot better. And fast, for his peace of mind if nothing else. 

Marco wasn't good enough to be able to locate individuals, not yet, at least, but he was good enough to tell if there were people nearby. They should be good enough to detect if the building he was standing on was empty. 

It was. 

For now. He didn't want to guess how long someone as skinny and obviously accustomed to desk-work as Moblit would be able to stop someone as determined as Hange Zoe from charging into the building. If his friend wanted to leave, now was the time. 

Marco blinked several times to settle his senses back to the more muted, human level he normally kept them at before moving. He jogged toward the broken edge of the roof, fired his hooks into the far wall of building, and took to the air. The second that Marco hit the rusty gear's trigger, the reclining Titan's body stiffened and a pair of gigantic green eyes shifted to focus on him. A deep noise rumbled in the Titan's chest. Marco's eyes immediately widened with alarm. 

Marco frantically shushed him with a hissed "Stop! Don't say anything and pretend you don't notice me!" 

The Titan obediently went back to staring at the nervous soldiers, but a glance back at the opposite roof revealed that Hange Zoe's soldier had noticed the strange behaviour. It was too far away to see what the man's expression was but it was clear from his body language that he was about to leave to ask Ms. Zoe and Moblit's for orders. Damn it.

"Listen closely. I only have time to say this once, okay? Blink if you can hear me," Marco said, waiting for the acknowledgement before proceeding. "Thank you. I'm done here. Jean picked me—" Marco cleared his throat awkwardly, "—us, I mean. He picked us and he's coming along. I have to wait for him but you don't have to. There's nobody inside this building, I just checked, so it's safe for you to leave now. You should leave now. Lose them in Trost Woods if you can before going home." 

The Titan blinked again, slowly and deliberately, and turned his head to look at the man running across the field while shouting orders at the idle soldiers. There was another new arrival. A young man with dark hair who –Marco cursed mentally– was probably Eren. The Titan's eyes swept over the field once more before fixing on Marco.

"I know," Marco snapped, "but I'm not leaving without Jean!" 

Scouting Legion soldiers were just doing their jobs and Eren was just trying to provide backup. It wouldn't be right to start a fight with them. They didn't know that they were on the verge of turning a peaceful encounter hostile. Marco did, however, so it was his responsibility to de-escalate the situation. 

"Hey," Marco said suddenly, "grab me and throw me somewhere." 

The Titan stared flatly.

"Don't give me that look! I'll be fine! I've healed from worse, you know. This is the fastest way to make them take their eyes off you and make them lose interest in me—" Marco glanced guiltily toward the barracks, where Jean was probably still gathering his things, and mumbled "—because they can't interrogate a corpse."

The expression didn't have to change for Marco to know just how much his friend disapproved of this plan. Marco himself didn't like it either. Putting Jean through another scare like that was the last thing he wanted to do but there were few options available and they both knew it. Jean would understand the necessity. He'd be angry enough to stop talking to Marco for another couple months but he would eventually understand.

"Come on," Marco insisted. "Please!" 

The Titan slowly raised a hand and rest it on the creaking remnants of the building's roof, bracing himself as he carefully levered the disproportionate and unbalanced body out of the rubble, while the other hand shot out to grabbed Marco at a speed that looked unavoidable. The top floor of the building that was directly below the gigantic hand collapsed under the weight. The second floor held, perhaps due to all the debris on the ground level, just long enough for the Titan to get to his feet but not a moment longer. The rest of the structure shuddered and followed suit – creaking ominously before entire sections of wall and building went crashing to the ground, sending up plumes of pulverized brick and stone that not even the rain was able to prevent. And now that the gigantic body wasn't supporting the weight of the damaged building, massive cracks appeared along old, hastily-repaired stress fractures that should have been dealt with properly many years ago. 

For a moment, it appeared that the rest of the building was about to collapse dramatically, but it held. 

The Titan snatched Marco from the side of the building with a speed that had genuinely surprised him. Marco didn't have to pretend to be shocked as he flailed. He forced himself to think about the Battle of Trost and the utter terror he felt back then to add authenticity to his struggling. Marco remembered being convinced that invading Titans would realize what Marco really was and that they would track him down so they could tear him in such tiny, little pieces that recovery was impossible before turning to do the same to Jean. Or worse, because that Marco wasn't there to stand in Annie's way. It wasn't difficult for Marco to convert memories that fuelled his endless sleepless nights into something that made his fright at being "caught" look authentic. He opened his mouth to scream but, remembering there was someone present who knew what Marco Bodt sounded like, whimpered pathetically instead. 

Marco reminded himself that the person he was pretending to be was a spy whose primary duties was to live amongst the Military Police stationed in Wall Sina and report back to Commander Smith. He wouldn't be as resilient as those who regularly went beyond the walls. Facing his own mortality wouldn't be at the forefront of his mind. Keeping all these things in mind, Marco started begging for his life in a Sina-accented voice and beating his fists futilely on the huge fingers wrapped around his body. His acting must have looked convincing because he could hear Eren's voice screaming at Ms. Zoe, demanding action or at least permission to engage the target and being denied it for reasons that weren't intelligible at such a distance. Marco slapped an open-palmed hand on one of the Titan's fingers, trying to communicate without words that it was long past time to throw him somewhere, when he noticed that something in the distance had caught his friend's attention. 

He was looking at the stables? Why? Marco squinted at the building but the darkness and the cold rain blowing his face made it impossible to see what was going on, so he dismissed the matter with a mental shrug.

"Put me down!" Marco yelled again and, finally, his friend reacted. 

The fingers tightened around Marco's body as the hand brought the struggling "human" closer to the gigantic face. The mouth gaped open in a leer. Teeth and a cavernous mouth filled his vision and memories of that day came thundering to the surface. The scene before his eyes blurred. Reality tilted and then, despite knowing that his friend would never purposefully harm him, Marco couldn't stop himself from letting out a very real scream of terror. Words slipped from his mouth in an unintelligible, fearful babble that was cut off by the banshee shriek of a badly-tuned 3DMG turbine. The sound plucked at memories that had nothing to do with that day in Trost, piercing through the waking nightmares that threatened to overwhelm him as metal flashed in the flickering light cast by the lanterns. Dense steam billowed, trailing in the wake of the severed gigantic fingertips that tumbled to the ground as the startled roar of a Titan shook the air and ground. Marco barely had the presence of mind to realize that he was falling before something struck him with enough force to make him cry out in pain. 

"Sorry." 

"Jean," Marco gasped, staring at him with a mixture of gratitude and confusion. "What're you doing?" 

"Picking you up," Jean said, landing on the roof of the main building and setting him down. His hand lingered on Marco's back. "Seriously though, are you hurt?" 

"No more than usual," Marco said with a weak smile. "And while I do appreciate the assist, truly, you shouldn't have." 

Jean turned to see what caught Marco's attention and realized that they were being watched. Eren was standing next to Hange Zoe, whose attention was focused on the Titan stumbling out of the building's rubble, and Moblit, who looked torn between running to fetch Captain Levi and trying to keep Hange from doing anything reckless. It didn't look like either of them was paying attention to what Eren was saying. Or doing. Jean didn't need to hear the words Eren was saying to know what he was planning to do; three years of constantly getting on each other nerves made it easy to tell when a fight was inevitable. 

"Oh," Jean said. "Well, shit."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, huh? Sorry about that. I kept trying to start the fight, but Marco kept shutting things down because he wanted to try a peaceful solution first and wouldn't take "no" for an answer. Also, things also kept derailing into flirting. Maybe I should take this as a sign to work on a fluff story next...


	17. Chapter 17

A flash of light shooting into the sky was the only warning everyone got to brace themselves before the deafening bang that heralded a Shift rang out. A wave of steam so dense it was opaque rolled out from the epicenter in the yard below and the unlucky soldiers caught unprepared by Eren's sudden transformation cried out in pain as the super-heated air hit their unprotected skin. Jean himself hadn't even begun to react before Marco – with eyes wide and face paler than normal – used more strength than necessary when he grabbed hold and yanked Jean off balance. He stumbled and fell face-first onto Marco's chest where he was held in place with a hand splayed over the back of his neck. 

Marco curled protectively over him and twisted to take the excess heat from the transformation on his back. Jean's eyes widened. Still too stunned to react, he just stared in helpless horror as Marco sucked in a pained breath through his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. The faint smell of cooking meat hit the air. Desperately shoving down unwanted memories of fire, Jean started to shout Marco's name before he remembered his friend's earnest request: nobody else was to know that Marco Bodt survived the Battle of Trost. Not yet, at least. 

Jean growled in frustration and hissed "You idiot! Stop making it worse!" 

Marco slapped on his poker-face smile. He tousled Jean's hair with a hand that shook slightly and said "It's okay. I heal fast." in his most warm and reassuring voice. 

Jean said nothing in reply. 

He guessed that Marco must have forgotten that his "sheltered and innocent wide-eyed country bumpkin" act only ever worked a couple times on Jean, way back when they were just getting to know each other. It never worked again after they became good friends. Marco must also have forgotten that by being so touchy-feely and lingering inside Jean's personal bubble like this, he made it possible for Jean to feel the sudden and unnatural increase in body temperature. Marco revealed enough information about how Titan bodies worked that this was as good as admitting that he was more seriously injured than he was willing to admit. 

Jean also knew the exact moment Marco realized he was caught because the hand playing with his hair froze and slid away. Very, very slowly. Wisely, Marco didn't try to deny that he lied.

"I'll be fine," Marco said, "healing another burn is nothing compared to re-growing a whole torso. Oh. Um..." Marco flinched and stared at the ground with a troubled and guilty expression. "...Sorry," he mumbled. "I forgot that—"

Jean made an annoyed noise deep in his throat, not wanting to hear Marco beat himself up for things that were already in the past, and abruptly changed the subject. "Can your friend can outrun Eren?" 

Marco blinked in surprise. 

"Maybe?" He answered without any real thought. 

When Jean gave an irritated sigh, Marco scrambled to come up with a better answer. He tried to remember how fast Eren's Titan moved but the details completely eluded him. There were bigger problems weighing on his mind back then, during the Battle of Trost, and he remembered thinking that there would be plenty of time to see a Shifter's Titan in action later. And then, afterwards, he was too busy healing and trying avoid being caught snooping around by Jean to risk sitting in on any of the Scouting Legion's experiments. 

"Forget it," Jean said sharply, "It's fine, Marco. My plan will still work—" probably, he added mentally "—even without knowing who's faster. I'm guessing that even if your Titan buddy could easily run circles around Eren, he's not going to want to break character since... well, I guess you guys' main survival strategy is to blend in with the Standard Types?" Jean looked up expectantly, waiting for the inevitable offended rebuttal, only to be disappointed when Marco nodded. "Wait, seriously?" Jean frowned, now more concerned about the wisdom of throwing in with Marco's lot than ever before. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that a stupid plan like 'hope they don't notice us' actually works?" 

"It's not quite that simple, but yes." Marco said, "it has. For hundreds of years." 

"Hun—"

"This one of the things I promised to explain later. Remember?"

"Oh. Oh yeah." Jean nodded. "Okay, so this is the plan." He pointed to where Eren was trying to corner the invading Titan with very little success, unsurprisingly. He didn't know there was human intelligence behind the dumb looking façade. "We're going to get in Eren's face and make him and the others think we're either grossly incompetent or extremely disgruntled soldiers who are 'accidentally' attacking the wrong rogue Titan. I will focus on getting and keeping Eren's attention while you keep the soldiers from getting too close. Keep it up until your friend has a decent head start – which shouldn't take long, since it looks like he's handling things pretty good on his own – then we break off and make a run for it ourselves." 

"Do you want to know where I'm supposed to meet the others now?" Marco watched Eren's Titan hunker down in preparation for some sort of take-down manoeuvre. 

Jean shook his head. "Don't tell me anything." He knew that his resolve wouldn't be able to withstand a genuine interrogation from experts. "Just lead the way." 

"If you think that's best..." 

Marco's words cut off – interrupted by Jean's snort of laughter when Eren's failed tackle missed the invading Titan by a humiliatingly wide margin. It looked like Marco's friend turned too fast and tripped over its own misshapen legs, avoiding the tackle by pure luck as it crashed to the ground in a heap, but Jean was pretty sure that wasn't the case. It had to be deliberate. Nobody was that uncoordinated. But, on the other hand, the way Marco covered his face with his hands and groaned like he was in pain suggested otherwise. Maybe it wasn't an act? Either way, the most important point was that Marco's friend managed to avoid capture. 

The invading Titan staggered to its feet and started moving away at the same time that Eren's Titan picked itself off the ground. Frustrated (and probably embarrassed), Eren slammed his hands into the ground with far more force than necessary and rose with a roar that made the building beneath their feet shudder. 

Eren was losing his temper faster than normal, Jean thought. Good. 

Jean nodded to Marco before leaping from the roof and firing his hooks in Eren's direction. Specifically, he aimed at the eyes of Eren's Titan. He was counting on Eren's anger to drive everything but the most deeply ingrained behaviours out of mind – that by growing up under the mistaken assumption he was human, Eren the Shifter would react the same way that an ordinary human would when surprised by something moving toward his face at high speed: avoid it. Eren wouldn't just stand there and let things hit him the way Marco did, sometimes, back in basic training when the freckled nuisance forgot what was the normal human threshold for pain and injury. 

And as expected, Eren's Titan flung himself backwards. 

This opened up a clear path for the hooks to lodge in the back of the fleeing Titan that Jean would've preferred to ignore, but combat had taken the two Titans far enough away for the Scouting Legion's buildings that they couldn't be used. There was no choice except to use the Titans' own bodies to coordinate attacks. Jean reeled in at maximum speed and mentally braced himself. He didn't actually know how much gas was in the tanks Marco provided but now was not the time to be stingy because Eren's dodge was most likely put there by combat training. That meant a counter was coming. An automatic and reflexive response that, in this situation, would probably translate into a swat that would send Jean straight into the ground where he'd be crippled or killed on impact. 

The giant hand began to descend and Jean's pulse rocketed to dangerous levels. He realized immediately that he wouldn't be able to get out of the way in time because despite Marco's best efforts, the borrowed gear wasn't performing as well as they had expected. The turbine was too rusty to produce enough torque. 

Jean was still trying to think of a way to alter his route enough to avoid serious injury – the ground? Aim at the ground and change trajectory just enough to avoid the hit, then re-anchor the hook in the fleeing Titan? No. No, there wasn't enough time to reel back the hooks to fire again – when Eren's Titan's gave a roar that made Jean's ears ring. Hot blood spattered down. It covered Jean's face and back in a disgusting shower that was, thankfully, already beginning to evaporate. 

He shifted his eyes from the Titan hand hovering dangerously close overhead to the glint of metal embedded in the palm where a hook had pierced through the Titan's hand... but not cleanly. No, there were fragments of pale bone the size of Jean's forearm ripping through still-bleeding flesh. Eren's Titan threw its head back and howled, enraged, but something about it sounded different from all the other times Eren lost sight of himself in anger and pain. 

There was a strange noise – a shrill undercurrent – rippling through the roar that took Jean far too long to identify as the distinctive banshee shriek of Marco's crappy old 3DMG. Jean looked back in time see the hook embed itself further in the ruined palm of Eren's hand with a stomach-turning noise. The hook must've got caught on something really hurt because Eren abandoned his pursuit of the retreating Titan and turned around to glare at the person connected to the other end of the wire.

Marco stood on the rain-slick tiles with his booted feet planted firmly on the ledge running along the perimeter. An anchoring hook fired into rooftop behind him and Marco leaned back, using nothing more than his weight and the strength in his human body to resist the strength of a Titan. Marco's legs quivered with exertion. His mouth was set in a thin line and his face completely blank of expression and between the uniform and the extensive scarring that was visible even at this distance, the man standing on the Scouting Legion's roof didn't look anything like Marco in Jean's memories. 

He looked like a stranger.

And that was good, Jean told himself sternly. Anything that made it harder for people to guess that Marco Bodt, Killed in Action, was still alive and well could only be a good thing. Being unable to recognize Marco at a glance was nothing to get upset about in this situation. But then, as if sensing Jean's anxiety and scrutiny, Marco's eyes flickered over to his and the harsh expression dissolved into the sheepishly apologetic smile that seemed to be Marco's default expression these days. 

Jean wasn't sure what he was trying to apologize for this time, but he guessed it was probably for messing up the plan. Jean, as the more skilled and experienced 3DMG user, was the best choice to face an angry Titan while Marco ran interference with the troops. That was safest course of action but that was certainly not going to happen now. Eren didn't take the bait that Jean tried to set and instead chose to focus on the "rogue soldier" on the roof. 

It was easy to see the thoughts running through Eren and the other soldiers' minds. 

It looked like he and Marco were so useless as soldiers that the Scouting Legion had them sent to the Interior as spies, a place where their utter lack of ability would blend in perfectly with the Military Police's and Garrison's most pampered soldiers. The pair would either blend in and survive or, more likely, be discovered and killed. Either way, two of Commander Smith's worst soldiers would be safely out of everyone else's way and someone else's problem. Their skill in espionage had to be what earned them "elite" status, everyone else' faces were saying, because definitely couldn't be combat ability. Just look at what happened moments after offering to help: one "elite" fucked up by getting way too close to the invading Titan and nearly got crushed to death it not been for a timely rescue from his partner... who then promptly fucked up himself by almost gouging out the eyeball of the Scouting Legion's personal Titan and had to be rescued so Marco intervened. 

Marco managed to save his partner from death by spearing the hand of Eren's Titan and while that was a good thing in the other soldiers' eyes, it was long past the time to hit the hook's release switch. 

Eren looked at the retreating form of the invading Titan who was not yet too far to pursue, and then back at the incompetent soldier on the roof. Marco stared back steadily and still refused to hit the switch. The brows of Eren's Titan furrowed. 

Marco wasn't intimidated in the least. He watched silently, patiently, refusing to do anything that might help Eren reach a conclusion. As long as Eren was in his Titan form and acting unpredictably, there was no danger of the other Scouting Legion soldiers jumping in to help. Also, it appeared that the majority of soldiers present were from Hange Zoe's department so they were more concerned with recovering what was left of their research than driving off the threat to Headquarters. Only a handful of competent soldiers remained ready to assist Eren.

In the distance, Jean landed safely on the back of the slowly fleeing Titan. 

He scrambled up toward its neck with fake clumsiness. He hoped that it looked like he was hopelessly terrible at all 3DMG related things and not suspicious, like Jean had chosen to ignore a prime opportunity to strike a killing blow. He hit the release trigger early and let himself fall, flailing like a novice, before jamming a blade deep into the Titan's flesh to catch himself. The muscles beneath Jean's hands twitched. The muscles flexed as the Titan's arm began to move and Jean sucked in a quick, terrified breath.

"Hey, Marco's friend!" Jean shouted, "don't attack. I've got a message from him!" 

The Titan kept facing forward and its arm kept moving, but the gigantic head dipped slightly in acknowledgement. Shaggy black hair brushed Jean's face. He flinched back before swallowing his nerves and grabbing a handful of hair so the Titan could "accidentally" pull him up to a safe spot. Jean settled down on the shoulder of Marco's friend while the Titan mimed grabbing at the spot Jean just vacated as if it was too stupid to figure out where the attacking soldier could have gone.

"Slight change in plans," Jean said.

He ignored the panicked hammering of his heart when the Titan's green eyes turned on him. Instead, Jean focused on figuring out a safe direction to flee in. He remembered enough details from their accidental reunion – the time he nearly clobbered Marco with a rock – to realize that Marco's rendezvous point couldn't be anywhere near Trost or Trost Woods. Jean remembered the direction the wagon full of stolen bribes had come from and which road Marco pushed it down and it definitely wasn't the one heading to Trost. That meant Marco and his Titan pals had to be camped out somewhere to the west or to the south of HQ. 

Therefore, sending the Scouting Legion on a wild-goose chase to the east was the best choice. 

"Run for Trost Woods as fast as you can," Jean said. "I know you guys are trying to keep a low profile but what we need right now is to get the Scouting Legion's attention. Make them waste their time searching there while you guys regroup. Don't worry about me and Marco. We'll catch up with you guys later – maybe in a couple days or so, depending on how long it takes to shake them off."

The Titan blinked very slowly and deliberately. Jean guessed that meant it understood. He yanked a handful of dark hair to get the Titan's attention again. 

"Now do me a favour and toss me back that way. GENTLY." Jean said sternly. "I can guarantee that Marco will be pissed and come after you if something bad happens, so don't get any funny ideas." 

He didn't want to trust an unknown Titan like this but he didn't have much choice. His gear didn't have enough power to propel him all the way back to HQ and he really didn't want to run the last hundred meters. That would be like inviting the uselessly gawking soldiers to pull themselves out of their stupor and get in the way. Also, it would be very unusual for a soldier to get so close to a Titan and not even try to kill it. The only way to deflect suspicion was to get "attacked" by it. 

The Titan seemed to sigh. Its shoulders shifted and Jean was too occupied with trying to keep his footing to notice what it was doing. The Titan grabbed Jean, turned, and tossed him back toward Headquarters in an extremely unnatural underhanded pitch. Uncharitable thoughts like "that fucker" and "shit, the dumbass really is a terrible actor" filled Jean's head, crowding out all the fear that he normally would've felt when grabbed by a Titan. 

Jean adjusted his trajectory with a burst of propellant gas and aimed for where Marco was fighting. 

His actions were far past the point of incompetence. It was clear now to everyone watching that Marco was deliberately and actively obstructing Eren from doing his self-appointed duty and had likely set out to do so from the very beginning. A traitor, their horrified faces said, or an insubordinate soldier whose hatred for Titans could not be quelled by anything the Commander said. The soldier fighting Eren was a liability and had to be dealt with but without the ability to speak in this form, Eren couldn't try to do anything like use his status as the Scouting Legion's not-so-secret weapon and a member of Squad Levi to order the passive soldiers to assist. 

Not that they could even if they wanted to.

Marco somehow managed to herd Eren away from the buildings and trees to a wide open field that was usually reserved as a pasture for the horses to exercise in. The only thing high enough there to use in 3DMG manoeuvres was Eren himself and nobody in the Scouting Legion was stupid enough to go near an enraged and madly flailing Titan. Not even if it was piloted by a Shifter who hadn't actually lost his mind yet. 

The only one willing to get close to Eren in this state was his tormentor who, being a Titan himself (not that anyone else knew that yet), was naturally protected from most of the dangers. Marco looked fearless. Dangerous. His blades flickered out at seemingly random to keep Eren off-balance and on the defensive. In one pass, the blades would sever muscle and tendon while in another the blades would skate harmlessly over the Titan's skin. Sometimes, Marco did nothing at all. He manoeuvred through the air with a mastery beyond his years – utilizing everything the old, rusted gear could offer from momentum from the hooks' retraction to pull of gravity on his own body – to keep himself safe. 

It was something they learned back in the first days of training. They were all taught the fundamentals of this technique when everyone was stuck doing endless tree-climbing drills of ground-canopy-ground until the supervising instructor was convinced that the recruit in question wouldn't kill themselves the moment they were left alone. In reality, what Marco was doing actually very wasn't special or noteworthy in the context of the person he was still pretending to be. This sort of skill was common amongst the elite of the Scouting Legion so being good at it wasn't the problem. The real problem lay in the particular way he liked performing it. His habits. All the stupid little things that Jean did unconsciously and hadn't realized he was doing until after he saw everything mirrored back in Marco's form. Because Marco took his studies very seriously and had been completely ecstatic that Jean voluntarily offered to help, Marco gave it his all and diligently practiced and practiced until Jean's variant was ingrained in his muscle memory. 

Every single aspect of it.

And it was a dead giveaway. 

Jean landed on the Titan's back on the spot that every single trainee in the 104th knew Eren was not flexible enough to reach, thanks to Connie and Sasha. Incidentally, they also confirmed that Eren's Titan body was just as inflexible as his human body during one of Hange's experiments when she was too distracted to stop the bored and restless duo from making their own entertainment. That was useful knowledge, now. He knew he was relatively safe from Eren's enraged flailing and could safely wait for Marco to join him.

Breathless and face damp with sweat and rain, Marco was still able to muster enough energy to beam a blindingly cheerful smile. He greeted Jean with a relieved "you're okay!" but, thank goodness, the freckled nuisance remembered to alter his accent. 

Jean answered with a hissed "what do you think you're doing?!"

He didn't have to explain what he meant. The way Marco suddenly couldn't meet his eyes was enough proof of guilt. Marco then started to mumble things that Jean couldn't hear. He could only make out the final words when Marco's voice rose in defensive agitation. 

"...had no choice. Her's—" meaning Mikasa, Jean guessed, or maybe Annie "—are too far beyond my skill level."

Jean grunted. He wanted to argue but it was guaranteed that Eren would be able to identify Jean's angry voice, so he was forced to let the ridiculous statement go unchallenged. Jean settled for punching Marco's arm.

"Time to go," he said. 

Marco jammed his blades between two vertebrae in the Titan's spine, pushing them down until the triggers' hilts touched overheated skin that was already working to restore the nerves' connection. He snapped them off at the base. Eren roared and stumbled but didn't fall. Jean gawked in horrified surprise as Marco replaced his blades and repeated the motion over and over again until the blades were gone and the connection between Eren's human body and the rest of the Titan was completely severed. 

And then, suddenly, the gigantic body was dropping like a marionette with broken strings. 

Marco wasted no time in grabbing Jean and propelling them both clear, to safety. They hit the ground hard and skidded in the mud for several meters before being stopped by a patch of weedy grass. Marco continued lay on his side wheezing and with his eyes screwed shut, while Jean struggled unsteadily to his feet. Something warm was dripping from his fingers. Blood? His arm was also throbbing but Jean had a feeling that Marco was far worse off – the first point of impact was Marco's right side, after all. He wanted to wait until Marco felt well enough to open his eyes, at the very least, but shouts from the other soldiers convinced him that it was time to get moving. Jean hauled the disoriented boy to his feet and started off in a random direction, running as fast as Marco could manage. 

After a few terrifying seconds of slow and unsteady stumbling while the soldiers' voices grew ever closer, Marco managed to find his balance. A few more seconds later, he recovered enough to run at Jean's side rather than being pulled along. Marco's hand had grown uncomfortably hot by this time but his brown eyes were still squeezed shut. Jean guessed it was to ward off nausea or a fainting spell. They nearly reached the stables' fenced in pasture before Marco felt well enough to speak.

"...'s so Eren can't chase us," Marco explained between great gasps for air. "I didn't want to, but I had to do it. We'd get caught too fast if I didn't. He'll have to Shift back first, now." 

Jean squeezed Marco's hand to show he understood and raised his unoccupied one. He stuck two fingers into corners of his mouth and blasted a sharp whistle. A horse answered immediately, and Marco frowned. He remembered something catching his and his Titan friend's attention that had come from the direction of the stables. Did Jean do something over there? Was that why he was so slow to return? 

Marco squinted suspiciously and intoned "Jean." 

"I didn't do anything to the horses," Jean said. "I locked the tack room's door and threw away the key after I grabbed Buchwald's stuff." He released Marco's hand so they could climb over the fence. A thought occurred to him as his horse came into view. "Oh. Uh, are you okay to ride? And still remember how?" Jean grabbed Buchwald's trailing reins. "I... probably should've asked this earlier, huh." 

Marco laughed breathlessly. 

"But if you can't, don't worry!" Jean turned to address his horse. "You will be nice, got it? Marco's injured." 

"Don't need to worry, Jean. Buchwald likes me." Marco gave Buchwald a friendly pat on the nose before hauling his battered body into the saddle. "See? Now get up here." He offered a hand. "And don't even bother making any excuses about how uncomfortable and awkward it's going to be. I know. The argument can wait."

Jean made a face and allowed Marco help him into the saddle. He wasn't actually bothered by the idea of being so close but it was easier to let Marco think whatever he wanted. It wouldn't be too late to correct the misconception later when they could to take things easy and just talk, but now was not that time. Putting Eren's Titan out of commission in such a dramatic way unfroze all of the rubbernecking soldiers and spurred them into action. Most of them were more focused on research than combat but that didn't mean they weren't a threat – Hange Zoe's personal squad was frequently assigned as Captain Levi's backup for a reason, after all. He and Marco had leave before the Scouting Legion's soldiers could mount a counterattack. Or, even worse, Eren recovered enough to Shift again. 

Jean leaned into the unevenly burning heat radiating off Marco's body. "You okay?" 

"I can take this level of pain, no problem." 

Jean sucked in a deep breath of cold air that was tinged with the scent of Marco's skin. This was it. He was past the point of no return and officially a traitor to humanity. There was nothing he could do change this fact so there was no point in lingering on regrets and what-ifs. Jean forced his mind to stillness and took the reins in hand.

"Brace yourself, then. We're leaving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapter's a little on the short side but I had to end it there. The next scene, as you can probably guess, is going to be WordsWordsWords as Jean and Marco have a long overdue conversation about all the things they've been trying very hard to put off. When they talk they have a tendency to ramble so, yeah, the next chapter will probably be a long one. 
> 
> I'll edit this thing later. It's late and I'm tired and if I don't post it now, I'll just keep rewriting sections forever.


	18. Chapter 18

Hours passed in a tense silence with Marco hunched low in the saddle, his hands alternately gripping the saddle or Buchwald's mane as he tried avoid blocking Jean's line of sight or distracting him in some way. It was wasted effort because sharing a saddle meant they were pressed right up against each other and Jean could feel every flinch and hear every cut-off intake of breath, but Jean refrained from pointing this out. Marco just wanted to help and being as injured as he was, there was little else that could be done. Marco's body was alarmingly hot at the beginning of their flight from the Scouting Legion's headquarters but the temperature stabilized at something pretty close to normal. It seemed like Marco was back to normal and, therefore, now safe to ignore. 

It took a shamefully long time to realize it was a trick and that Marco's temperature was still falling. 

Jean only noticed something was seriously wrong when Marco's stomach gurgled so loudly that Jean jolted with fright. Marco flinched and curled up like he wanted to disappear – which only served to draw Jean's attention to the back of Marco's bared neck where an entertainingly vibrant shade of red was spreading. Jean grinned and tried to think of something to say that would embarrass Marco further, but all humor drained out of the situation when he realized that Marco wasn't acting this was just because he was embarrassed, but because he was cold. Unnaturally so. 

Back in the Trainee Corps, a mutual intense dislike of cold weather combined with the pitifully thin standard issue blankets to result in months when he and Marco were practically glued to each other in futile attempt to keep warm by leeching the other person's heat. As a result, he knew what his friend's resting body temperature was supposed to be. They both knew what was normal and what was cause for concern and for the record, Marco's was on the cusp of "feverish". Marco claimed it was normal and since nobody had ever caught him in a lie, Jean accepted it as the truth (which it was) but he was probably the only one who did. Everyone else just thought Marco was trying to be nice and avoid being a burden by downplaying his injuries and they all sicced the nurses on the poor boy.

Know what he did now, Jean realized how dangerous the others' well-meaning actions were. Sending professionals who knew all about the inner workings of the human body after Marco – someone who wasn't human and was trying very hard to hide that fact so he could live a normal life – was one of the worst things they could do to him. Worst of all, because the others genuinely thought they were doing good, Marco couldn't bring himself to get angry or tell them to stop or go away and leave him alone. His soft-hearted nature was probably what ultimately pushed Marco into using his Titan abilities in unexpected (and sometimes frivolous) ways to avoid conflict. 

Like just now. 

Jean would be impressed by Marco's creativity and observational skills if he wasn't so damn pissed. Marco was putting his own serious injuries second for dubious reasons again. Yes, they needed to get away and Jean needed to focus to do so but all their efforts would be for naught if Marco keeled over because he didn't want to take a break. 

The most galling thing of all, though, was probably the fact that Jean was out-manoeuvred by someone suffering from serious cranial injuries.

Jean realized how much time passed since they left Headquarters behind and how tired and worn down Marco looked when he arrived to break Jean out of the cell. Marco's physical condition also seemed to be getting worse as time went on and not better. Marco did say it was physically draining to heal injuries but shouldn't all the extra food help? He was definitely eating better in recent days because after Marco discovered that Jean's mother was never informed about his death, everything edible in Mrs. Kirstein's regular care packages that weren't clearly labelled with Jean's name started disappearing with annoying regularity. Did Marco have hurt himself that badly back there in the fight? But he should be fine. Eren's Titan never managed to catch him and the ground wasn't that hard. If a squishy human like Jean was okay then a Titan like Marco should be too, right?

But he wasn't. 

"Hey, Marco? Are you"—going into shock—"doing okay?" 

Jean tried to keep his voice calm and casual but he was pretty sure he didn't succeed because Marco's response was to twist around in the saddle so he could look Jean straight in the eyes. 

"Yes..." Marco answered slowly, brows furrowed with concern about what the sudden break in silence could mean. "Why do you ask?"

Jean glanced off to the side and mumbled, "Just wondering." 

"I feel as good as can be expected in this situation, but what about you? How are you holding up?" Marco's ice cold fingers touched Jean's face, gently but forcefully guiding it so they were once again looking at each other. "Hmm... you don't look so good. Did you forget to change the bandages and picked up an infection?" Marco studied Jean's expression with narrowed eyes before releasing it. "Well, whatever you did to yourself while I was away seems like it's really taken a toll on you. You should take a break for a while." Marco's hands settled over Jean's. "Okay, let go of the reins. I can take it from here."

Jean's feelings of guilt doubled. "Marco—" 

"I said let go."

Jean withdrew his hands without further argument. He wouldn't be able to overpower Marco from their current positions anyway and a struggle for control of the reins would undoubtedly confuse Buchwald. There were no good reasons to get stubborn. Jean huffed a gusty and theatrical sigh (slightly appeased by the way Marco tensed up suddenly) and wrapped his arms around Marco's waist for lack of anything better to do with them. Buchwald changed directions and sped up once Marco took full control and worry that their pursuers caught up kept Jean quiet for a time. However, after night had fallen fully, Jean realized that no matter how hard he strained his ears the only thing he could hear was the pounding of Buchwald's hooves and their laboured breaths. The immediate danger was passed and with no need to keep a lookout, Jean swiftly grew bored with being obedient.

"So..." Jean said, leaning forward so he could look over Marco's shoulder. "Do you think we finally lost them? I don't see anything but that's not really saying much. I'm just a normal human soldier with normal human eyes." 

Marco relaxed backwards into the warmth of Jean's body with an indistinct hum vibrating deep in his chest. It wasn't clear if the noise was one of acknowledgement of the question, or one of pleasure. Jean was too worried about the abnormal chill still clinging to Marco's body to really care what it meant. 

"We should call it a day," Jean said. "The healthiest and most alert one here is the horse and he's been ready to stop for a really long time. Pushing on through the night's not going to do anyone any good. The guys chasing us must've stopped for the night too, if they didn't give up entirely and went back to Headquarters." 

"I doubt that, but..." Marco's voice trailed off and his whole body tensed up. 

"Did you see something?" Jean looked around but their surroundings appeared to be unchanged since the last time he checked. "Marco? Hey, Marco. Answer me."

Jean poked Marco's side but all attempts to get a response resulted in nothing; Marco remained stubbornly unresponsive. 

Unfortunately, Jean had seen this behaviour before – Marco retreating somewhere deep inside his head where nobody could disturb him – and knew there was nothing he could do but wait for Marco to come out of it on his own. He knew it wasn't something to worry about. It was just annoying. Jean knew perfectly well that it was nothing but nonetheless, the irrationally panicked "what ifs" rattling around inside his head made every second of silence feel like an eternity. In reality, Marco was only "gone" for between a dozen seconds to a minute before he released a breath and sagged. Marco was conscious but so tired that he was no longer leaning on Jean for the simple pleasure of physical contact, but because he lacked the energy to keep himself upright. Marco probably would've fallen from the saddle if Jean had not been there to hold him upright.

"You were right," Marco said, patting the arm around his waist in thanks. 

Jean mumbled something vague under his breath and shifted his attention toward the now urgent task of finding a good place to stop for the night. Going to one of the nearby towns to rest would be the ideal choice but that require more hours of travel than their bodies could endure at this point. They would probably end up sleeping on the ground. Normally that would've been a perfectly acceptable option, but the recent bad weather made the idea very unappealing because lying in the mud while unseen critters with far too many legs crawled into their clothes was never fun. It was fortunate that letting Buchwald lead himself for a while had led to the discovery of a promising bunch of old looking trees growing very close together. With luck, their branches would be so tangled together that the canopy was able to repel most of the storm's rain. The ground might even be dry. 

"Hmm?" Marco lolled his head back to rest on Jean's shoulder. 

Startled by the sudden closeness of Marco's face, Jean was slow to respond. "What?" 

"You're not gloating about being right." Marco smiled drowsily. "How odd."

"Hey. I can be nice." 

"I know," Marco said. "Anyway, I'm not sure if the soldiers stopped chasing us because we lost them or because they went back to get reinforcements but what matters is that it's safe to stop for the night." Marco's eyes blinked shut and stayed that way. "I'm sorry, Jean, but do you think you could you set up camp on your own? I'm really not feeling good and need to rest for a couple minutes." 

"Sure, I got it." Jean nodded stiffly, trying not to jostle Marco from where he settled. "But can I ask something before you pass out? It can wait if you're really feeling bad. It's not that big of a deal. I've already waited months for answers so what's a few more minutes?"

"Jean, it's okay." Marco assured him. "What do want to know?"

"What the hell did you do just now?" 

"Titan stuff." Marco sighed, realizing that his answer wasn't very clear, and elaborated after a slight pause. "You know, sensing if there's anyone nearby to eat? Not"—he cracked open an eye to glare, pre-emptively silencing any smartass comments Jean was tempted to make—"that I'd ever consider eating a person. I can still sense where they are if I concentrate enough. I'm really out of practice at doing Titan stuff, though, so it takes a lot out of me."

Jean nodded, satisfied enough with the answer to leave Marco undisturbed for the next couple minutes while he checked if the location was acceptable. Luckily, the trees' branches were so thick and gnarled that the ground was nearly dry near the trunks. Jean dismounted. The amount of moisture seeping up where he and Buchwald stepped was negligible. He peered into the bushes and ferns growing at the base of the trees and saw that they were dense enough to make it very difficult if not impossible to see anyone lying on the ground. No animal burrows either. 

"Good enough," Jean declared, extending a hand in a silent offer that Marco accepted gratefully. 

Marco clumsily slipped off Buchwald's back with Jean's help and hobbled over to the nearest tree, where he eased his sore and battered body down to the ground with a pained groan. Marco leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to fight off a sudden onset of vertigo. He focused on the sound of his breathing and tried to block everything else out including an acute awareness of Jean, who kept walking past unnecessarily as he set up camp. Marco assumed that he must've fallen asleep or passed out for a while because the next time he opened his eyes, which felt like only moments later, he saw that Buchwald was tended to and a makeshift tent was set up by tossing a cloth over a partially fallen-over tree and weighing down the ends with rocks. There was no fire but that was undoubtedly because it was deemed too big a risk. 

"Sorry," Marco mumbled while rubbing a hand over his face. He didn't feel rested at all. 

Jean looked up from where he was crouched by the saddle bags retrieving a small metal tin that rattled when he moved to join Marco underneath the largest tree. Jean claimed his usual spot on Marco's right, sitting closer than was appropriate for friends but farther than was normal for them. Marco stomped down the sudden surge of alarm and told himself not to read too much into something that was probably nothing. Jean was just being considerate of the lingering injuries that was Marco's entire right side, that's all. 

"What for?" Jean asked. 

Marco spent a few moments in silence before answering tiredly. "For a lot of things?" He said softly, "Too many to list. More than I could ever hope to atone for." 

Jean stared at the tin in his hands, idly turning it over and over in restless hands and listening to the contents rattle as he weighed his answers carefully. 

It was true that Marco had a lot to answer for. He lied almost constantly throughout the time they knew each other – lies of omission were still lies in Jean's books – meaning the very foundation of their friendship was built on unstable ground. Marco was a Titan and capable of killing every single one of the trainees before graduation if he so wished but he was smarter than that. Marco's game was a long one: aiming to be skilled enough to earn a spot in the top ten so he could land a position in the Military Police, but not so outstanding that he'd stick in anyone's mind for long. From there Marco would be able to move to serving the King in the heart of mankind's territory where nobody would ever think to look for a Titan. 

The same plan Annie had. 

Hell, that might even be the reason why someone tried to murder Marco in Trost using the chaos of the battle as cover. The same plan but incompatible agendas. Marco might be a Titan and the natural enemy of humans, but he wasn't a monster. Marco was honest and principled to a fault. He'd never agree to assist with a genocide no matter how justified the reasons may be. Marco was too good of a person to ever do something so awful. 

And that was it, Jean realized. Even after all the lies and deception, he still honestly and completely believed that Marco was trying to do the right thing. For everyone, be they Titan or Human or whatever. He couldn't even imagine that Marco was anything but the same big-hearted idiot he was in the beginning. Marco wasn't the enemy. 

Jean pried off the tin's lid and offered it with a disgruntled and reluctant, "Here. Take one." 

Marco jerked back to avoid getting hit when Jean shoved the tin at his face. "...Thank you?"

Marco cautiously peered inside and when he saw a bunch of colourful and fragrant hard candies rolling around, his eyes widened in surprise. He recognized them. "Where did you get these?!" Marco exclaimed enthusiastically "Thank you so much!" and snatched the entire tin away. 

"Hey!" Jean yelped. "I said 'one'!" 

"Don't be so stingy," Marco chided, blocking Jean from retrieving the tin with his whole body and picking though the candies in search of his favourite flavour. "And these are mine anyway. Don't even try to hide it! They're a Jinae local speciality that's not sold in any store. The only way to get them is through me." He paused to think. "Or my mom."

"What a coincidence, because your mom is the one gave me that very tin," Jean said haughtily, but he quailed under the force of Marco's stare and reluctantly admitted, "...to give to you later. As a graduation present." 

"You ate my gift," Marco accused. 

"Only a couple!" Jean protested. "A-and they taste weird anyway! Flavour's too strong and it's laced with something that keeps me awake for hours. I don't like them."

Marco frowned. "I don't think I want to apologize to you anymore."

"Then don't," Jean said with a stern expression. "Don't apologize to me." 

Marco stared blankly, uncomprehending. "What?" It took him a couple seconds to remember what they were supposed to be talking about. "But you, at the very least deserve a—"

"Answers," Jean cut in, "not apologies. So tell me, Marco, did you intend to almost die in Trost that day?" He watched Marco shake his head and ploughed on before the older boy could respond. "And after"—Jean's voice broke—"after I found your body, were you in any shape to go looking for me? For us? The truth, Marco. Tell me, honestly, should you even be walking around right now?"

"I'm mostly okay now..." Marco mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. "But for a long time afterwards? No," he admitted in a whisper, "I guess I wasn't."

Jean pressed his shoulder to Marco's, silently offering support while Marco worked up enough nerve to continue. 

"Someone who knew my secret – that I'm not human – retrieved my body from the corpse pile before it could be cremated." Marco stared at the tin of candies in his hands as he spoke, and slowly slid sideways so he could to rest his tired head on Jean's shoulder. "I was lucky. So, so lucky. I could've died for real if my body wasn't found. I had gone into a kind of shock, I think, after getting bitten in half. I wasn't consciously aware of anything but the awful condition my body was in and that I had to fix it. But not right away, a part of me realized, or something bad would happen... like being discovered by the ones that tried to kill me." 

"And they are?" Jean prompted.

"Annie is one," Marco said. "I'm not sure about the others who were with her. I was ambushed first. I do remember hearing voices and they were male, but..." Marco shook his head slowly. "Sorry. I can't remember much else. It's kind of... you know. Difficult to remember of the moments right before I almost died." 

"That's good enough," Jean said even though it really wasn't. He wanted to push for more details so he'd know whose blood he should be after, but the grateful smile Marco graced him with convinced Jean that he made the right choice. "So that healing of yours. Is it automatic or something you can control?"

"It's mostly an automatic response to injury but I can control it if I concentrate," Marco explained, relaxing as he dropped into Tutor Mode. "Most of us can. One of the first skills we learn is how to interrupt or completely halt the accelerated healing process because Shifting all the time is bad for a variety of reasons. One reason is to avoid accidentally killing the humans around us and another major reason is a more pragmatic one: there's not much our titan-sized bodies are capable of that we can't also do in our human-sized ones. It's tiring and a waste of precious calories to turn gigantic when starvation is a constant threat."

"It's that tiring?" Jean thought back to all the Shifter experiments he watched Hange Zoe run. "But Eren was able to transform several times in row without suffering any real damage." 

"And he's a Shifter," Marco pointed out bluntly. "I'm not. We share a common root but we are not the same thing. I will admit that there are a lot of similarities, though, like the size of our Titan bodies. We too run full range of sizes from barely larger than a human to—"

"Colossal?" Jean asked. 

Marco shook his head. "No. Fancy variants like that are beyond our abilities. Physically speaking, we're basically the same as your Standard Types." 

"Oh, that reminds me..." Jean smirked at sudden look of dread that stole over Marco's face. "About your Titan's d—"

"Stop thinking about my naked body!" Marco interrupted, trying to swat Jean only to miss when the younger boy ducked out of the way, laughing hysterically. "Hold still, you shameless pervert!"

"Oh relax, will you? I'm just teasing." Jean slung an arm around Marco's shoulders and coaxed the grumbling boy to his feet so they could relocate to the tent. "And it's not like the Titan is really you anyway, so what's the matter? This is the you that matters."

Marco mumbled irritably as he sat down. 

The camp was pretty pitiful as far as shelter went: no blankets, no fire, and the "tent" was just a cloth thrown over a fallen tree. The saddlebags were their pillows and the rain ponchos their mattress. Left on his own, Jean would probably freeze to death before dawn. He was lucky that Marco could raise his body temperature enough to offset the chill of the air and that neither found it odd or uncomfortable to sleep together in the same bed. It would be easier to maintain a higher than normal temperature with a stomach full of food but they did leave in a rush. Marco doubted that Jean had enough time to grab food for the road and supplies to camp out in the open. 

"Take one?" Marco held out the tin and shook it slightly. "I know you don't like it but you need to eat something. And they're good for you."

Jean rolled his eyes and made a big melodramatic production out of finding the smallest piece in the tin to pop in his mouth. In truth, Jean didn't actually hate them; the candies just had a very distinctive flavour that he wasn't always in the mood for. It was also endlessly funny how offended Marco got on behalf of his hometown's specialty candy that Jean could rarely resist the temptation to tease.

"So the awful taste is because it's medicine?" Jean said. "Makes sense." 

"That's not— I mean, yeah, some of the ingredients are medicinal but that's not why—" Marco cut himself off. "Oh I see. You don't like how strong it is, right? Well, this is the way they're supposed to taste, not all weird and watered-down like the kind that's sold around here! And you know? The flavour's not just strong for the sake of being strong. There are a LOT of calories packed into one of these"—Marco held up a piece before popping it into his mouth—"so it's a bad idea to eat too many in one sitting. Unless it's an emergency and you've got nothing else to eat, I guess, but even then you should probably pace yourself." 

"Uh huh. Says the guy who just inhaled half a tin." 

"I... I need the calories right now," Marco said defensively, self-consciously, as he closed the container and tucked it away in a pocket. "I'm healing." 

"Excuses," Jean taunted. 

"No, truth." Marco pointed at his face. "See? I'm even working on getting rid of these scars now! I don't need them anymore and since I've got to fix a lot of other parts, I might as well heal this too." 

Jean reached out, curious, but hesitated at the last second and left his hand hanging in the air. He wanted Marco to decide if he wanted to close the gap between them and, perhaps unsurprisingly, it didn't take long for him to reach a decision. Marco dipped his head to rest his scarred cheek in the palm of Jean's hand while inscrutable dark brown eyes stayed fixed on Jean's lighter ones – passively and patiently watching as Jean began to explore the altered planes of Marco's face with trembling fingertips. The light was too poor to see what Marco was talking about earlier but, to be honest, Jean already knew what to expect. The scarring had grown less severe and frightening over time and it was, in fact, one of the first things that helped Jean distinguish between the two Bodts. His touch shifted. Jean's hand moved from confirming the presence of bones on the right side of Marco's face to carefully running his fingertips down the break between scar tissue and unblemished skin, marvelling at the marked difference in temperature. The damaged side was actually hot to the touch – not enough to scald, but close. It felt uncomfortably hot to his rain-chilled fingers while the left side of Marco's face, in contrast, was normal. Completely and reassuringly normal. 

Curiosity satisfied, Jean withdrew his hand and asked, "Why keep any scars? What good would it do?"

"I had to," Marco said. "Everyone who was around when Mr. Smith was rising to power knows that Antonio Bodt's face is scarred and why it happened. They also know that Tony's resentment is justified and that he's just waiting for a good opportunity to set things right."

Jean wanted to know more but he had a feeling that asking would do no good. He looked pointedly in the direction of the Southern Trainee Camp and said, "Let me guess: it's Antonio's story to tell, not yours?" 

Marco smiled apologetically and nodded. "I don't want to give you the wrong idea about what happened because I don't know all the details myself. He doesn't like talking about it."

"Then I won't ask him about it either," Jean said, making a mental note to ask Allan for details at the first opportunity. The man was a veteran soldier who was serving in the Scouting Legion at the time and one of Antonio's friends. He definitely knew happened.

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

The conversation dropped away into an awkward silence that neither was sure how to fill. There were still many questions that Jean wanted to ask but his attention kept getting caught by Marco's fingers wiggling between the damp white denim and the 3DMG harness belts, pulling the leather taut enough to visibly bite into Marco's well-defined thighs as he adjusted and re-adjusted where the straps lay. Nervous? Was he nervous? Marco did have a habit of fidgeting when he was anxious or was uncomfortable. Also, it did look like the borrowed gear was meant for someone significantly smaller and slighter than Marco, so it had to be discomfort. Marco didn't have anything to feel nervous about. Anxious and scared? Yes. They were being hunted by the Scouting Legion so of course he'd be scared. But nervous? No. 

"Uh, Jean?" Marco meekly stared at his hands and didn't look up even when Jean answered. "Is it okay if I ask you something?" 

Jean's heart leapt into his throat for reasons he wasn't really sure about. Intuition, maybe. It said that he really didn't want to hear what Marco had to say so Jean started babbling loudly.

"Oh! You said you were looking for something, right Marco? That went missing?" Jean blindly reached back, slapping the ground a few times before finding one of the trailing straps of the saddlebag and dragged it over. Marco was forced to lean back to avoid getting hit when Jean lifted the bag between them before dropping it in his lap.

"A lot of my things went missing..." Marco eyed the bag suspiciously before returning his attention to Jean, refused to get distracted. "But it's okay. I'm not mad at you," he said, because Jean was usually the one ultimately responsible for Marco's personal belongings disappearing and he was sure that was also the case here. "I'm more interested in hearing your answer to my question."

"J-just one?" 

Jean mentally cursed himself for stammering because Marco's automatic response was slip one of his arms around Jean's waist to give him a reassuring hug. Marco let his arm linger there, as was his habit, but with one change: he tangled his fingers into the belts of Jean's harness (which had been loosened earlier to make it less uncomfortable to set up camp) and held on tightly. It became clear to Jean back in the hunter's cabin where they had unknowingly fought seriously that Marco had a lot more power at his disposal than he actually used. If Jean lost his nerve and tried to escape the conversation by bolting, Marco could easily stop him with brute force. 

"Just one question," Marco confirmed with an enigmatic smile. "You already answered it but I couldn't hear your words clearly so this is more clarification than anything."

"Oh." Jean relaxed. What that it? He smiled back and said, "Go ahead then. Ask away." 

"Back in the storage room, you said you liked me. In what sense do you mean?"

Jean tensed up and blurted the first words to come to mind. "You're my best friend!" 

"That's not answering the question," Marco pointed out. "But thank you. You're my best friend too."

"Wh-what makes you think that's not the answer?" Jean turned his head to avoid Marco's piercing stare. "It's normal for good friends to do stuff like trust you and have your back in a fight."

"Not like this," Marco said softly. "What you've done for me goes far beyond friendship. It's more like... well, you know what I mean." Marco let his attention drift back down to his restlessly fidgeting hands. "I... I just want to be sure one way or the other."

Jean leaned back on his hands and addressed the sky with a defeated groan. "Do I have to?" 

"Please?" Marco glanced at Jean through his lashes, a shy smile tugging on his lips and his freckled cheeks dusted a rosy red and looking ridiculously cute and innocent for a man so tall and muscular when he delivered the killing blow. "If it helps, I already know what kind of 'like' it is. I just want to hear you say it."

Jean choked and started coughing violently.

"Jean!" Marco cried, alarmed. "Are you okay? Do you need some water? I think I have some in my bag." Marco grabbed the satchel tucked underneath his jacket and rummaged through it. "Here. Drink this, slowly."

Jean waved it off as unnecessary. "I'm fine," he croaked. "You just surprised me." 

"Surprised?" Marco echoed, sitting back on his heels. "...Oh." His eyes widened. "I- I'm sorry. I thought you already knew and were just being coy. You know, like..." Marco blushed and stared at the canteen in his hands. "F-flirting? Badly, kind of... really badly, but still..." His voice dropped to a miserable whisper. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed." 

Jean swallowed nervously and poked Marco's side to get his attention, accidentally startling the older boy so badly that he yelped and fumbled the canteen. Fortunately, it was still capped so none of the water spilled but Marco still clutched it to his chest like it was something precious. Or like a child with a stuffed animal he thought could protect him from the world's ills. Shit, Jean thought, as he watched Marco's expression close off into something polite and distant. 

Jean awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and grumbled "How did you find out?" in lieu of being honest.

"Find what out?" 

"That I—You know." Jean flapped a hand at the space between them. "Come on, man. Please don't make me say it."

Marco's expression shifted from wary to hopeful. "Say what?" 

"You know already!" Jean snapped. "And seriously, how the hell did you find out? I thought I was doing a really good job of hiding how I feel." 

Marco stifled a laugh and smiled fondly as he patted Jean on the knee, not saying a word. 

"What?" Jean crossed his arms and glared, offended. "Are you implying that I'm transparent? Like... like Franz and Hannah level so bad at hiding it that even someone as dense as Eren could figure it out?" 

"Well..." Marco's smile widened into a mischievous grin when Jean began to look worried. "No, you're weren't that bad. You only made it obvious there was more than just friendship motivating you a couple times. I would've ignored it completely if not for... hmm." Marco tapped a finger on his chin as he thought. "How should I put it?" 

"Just say it," Jean grumbled. "Looks like you're dying to anyway."

"Okay," Marco said brightly. "I warned you that if you kept acting the way you were, I was going to start interpreting it as genuine interest, remember? 'If I didn't know better, I'd think you were hitting on me'?"

"Oh," Jean said faintly. "So what you said afterwards..."

"Was me giving you an out," Marco confirmed.

"Fuck." Jean covered his face with his hands. "Should've trusted my instincts. Of course you didn't believe me and were being serious. You're always fucking serious!" 

Marco ruffled Jean's hair affectionately and let his hand linger on the back of Jean's neck, where his fingers played with the shorter dark brown hairs.

"And since you took the out," Marco continued. "I backed off. But the next time I saw you, you went right back to paying compliments and going out of your way to do nice things and stuff like that. To be fair, those things alone wouldn't have convinced me that you were showing any special interest. It was the... the, um..." Marco cleared his throat and started blushing. "S-stripping and deliberately wearing almost nothing even after I asked you to please put on some clothes, for goodness sake, but no, you wanted to show off your legs!" Marco cleared his throat again and swallowed. "And then there's everything else you did even after I warned you. How else was I supposed to take it?" 

Jean's face felt like it was on fire. He wanted to deny that he acted like that on purpose or say that he somehow managed to forgot that Marco warned him, yes, he noticed Jean's interest and, no, he was not averse the idea himself... but that would be lying. And apparently Marco was a master at detecting lies, he was just too polite to directly do anything about it. 

"Alright, fine. I admit it. I like you like that," Jean mumbled from behind his hands. "Satisfied now?" 

Marco jostled Jean's shoulder with his when he shuffled closer. Marco still felt cold. Eating something had definitely helped to improve Marco's physical condition because he was nowhere near as bad as he was when they decided to stop for the night. Marco's hand was now around the same temperature as Jean's but unfortunately, for him, that meant his core body temperature was still too low. Worryingly low. That was why Jean didn't complain or shy away when Marco practically climbed into his lap in a mindless attempt to seek warmth from external sources to help restore his own. 

"Not entirely," Marco said. 

"What," Jean said with an annoyed glare, "you want a kiss too?"

"That would be nice." Marco was smiling when he leaned in, quick as lightning, to steal one. "Thank you, but that's not what I meant. I want to know what happened when you—Jean? Hey, Jean, are you okay?" Marco giggled as he lightly slapped Jean's cheek. "Come on. Don't tell me that one little peck on the lips was enough to break you. It isn't even the first time I've kissed you!" 

"Drunken smooches don't count," Jean replied distantly. 

"I remember it and you remember it and we both acknowledge it happened. It counts." Marco relented after a moment and added, "It might not have the same meaning as the kisses we will share from now on, but it still counts."

"Uh... So, while we're still on the topic of things we did before that are now going to be super awkward?" 

Jean waved a hand at their sleeping accommodations, which consisted of a tarp he found in the stable's tack room tossed over a fallen-over tree and weighed down with some rocks to act as a make-shift tent, and their rain ponchos laid out flat to keep the groundwater from soaking their clothes. The tarp was roughly the same size as the tents that were part of everyone's standard gear – which meant single occupancy unless you were Krista or Connie sized. He and Marco were nowhere near that size back in training and now, they were both even taller. 

"Oh," Marco said. "Well, if you're not comfortable—"

"Wait. And you are?" Jean interjected. "How can you act like nothing's changed?"

"Because nothing has?" Marco looked honestly confused by the question. "Think about it, Jean. You figured out that I was interested in you, my best friend and a boy, weeks ago but that still didn't keep you from doing everything we used to do all the time. Things like cuddling up really close whenever we sat down, or touching for reason but because we can, or falling asleep together in the same bed... which, you know," Marco said gently, "isn't normal 'just friends' behaviour." 

"I know that," Jean retorted. "I'm not an idiot." 

"So you knew what you were doing." Marco paused in the middle of rearranging the bags so the ground wouldn't be quite so uncomfortable to lie on and looked up. "How long?"

"Does it really matter?" Jean flopped onto his back with a pained groan and covered his face with his arms. "I threw away a lifetime's worth of effort to make something of myself in favour of turning traitor to Humanity and running off into the night with a Titan. That should tell you enough." 

"It does," Marco agreed, slowly easing his battered body down to lie on his back. "It's a pretty grand gesture. I don't know how I can top it." 

Jean rolled onto his side and studied Marco's face for a few moments before speaking again. "You're in really bad shape, aren't you." 

"But I will recover," Marco said. 

"But I can't help you in any real way, can I?" 

It was more of a statement than a question, but Marco chose to answer it anyway.

"Keep me warm?" Marco tugged lightly on Jean's shirt to coax him closer. "Cold is really hard on us. It makes everything from our thoughts to our bodies slow down to a crawl. I hate it. You're pretty cold too, but even this little bit will help me concentrate enough to make the healing go faster."

Jean had obediently shuffled closer with each tug until, in a sudden flash of temper, he decided enough was enough. He rolled over to lie on Marco like a human blanket, knowing from past experience what kind of outcome the freckled nuisance was actually aiming for. He stared down with a challenging look but, irritatingly, Marco's response to the provocation was to close his eyes and wrap his arms around Jean while giving a big contented sigh. 

"Thank you," Marco said gratefully. "This is so much better. Now please don't move for a couple hours. I need to concentrate if I want to be in any condition to help you fight off the Scouting Legion tomorrow." 

That wasn't the response he was looking for, but Jean decided that there was no use in arguing about petty matters when there was still a very real danger looming over their heads. And even if Jean wanted to argue, it looked like Marco had already retreated so deep inside his head that nothing said would disturb Marco's focus. There was no point in staying awake and listening to him breathe for hours, so Jean laid his head on Marco's shoulder and closed his eyes. He intended to keep watch by dozing while listening for trouble but instead, when for the first time in months, Jean drifted off immediately into an undisturbed slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long overdue conversation! Finally! Also, they're not actually done talking yet but this is getting seriously long and this seems like a good place to stop.
> 
> ETA: Sorry if anyone got an update notification. All the grammar hiccups in this chapter were bothering me too much to leave alone until the next update.


	19. Chapter 19

It was naïve to think that Marco's presence would be enough to quell all of his now deeply ingrained fears. Jean knew that it was foolish to assume getting his best friend back would be enough to make everything go back to the way used to be. He knew this very well, and yet knowing didn't stop the stupidly optimistic thoughts from surfacing when Jean fell asleep easily for the first time in months. Feeling the warmth of Marco's body pressed up against his and surrounded by the scent of Marco's favourite soap mixing with that of the Jinae specialty candy as he drifted off was like a shot of pure nostalgia. It was like the years fell away and they were just a couple of stupid trainees again, woefully unprepared and lost somewhere in the woods during a survival exercise.

But while falling asleep was easy, staying that way was another matter entirely. It wasn't as much of a surprise as it should've been for Jean to find himself startled awake by Marco's restless fidgeting and nightmares nearly as often as he was by his own. Jean wanted to be polite and ignore the disturbances but Marco did not make it easy. 

Marco had turned into a very clingy sleeper.

After the suffering through whiny grumbling whenever Jean tried to pull away to find a more comfortable position to lie in, or being startled awake by nearly scalding-hot fingers pressing on his chilled skin, or wheezing through that death-grip of a hug squeezing all the air out of his lungs because Marco apparently forgot all about how fragile human ribs could be when he wasn't fully awake… Well. Jean thought he did admirable job of holding onto his temper for as long as he did before snapping. Sympathy and understanding would only go so far, after all, so the next time he felt Marco start to fidget like he was thinking about doing something annoying to alleviate his boredom, Jean pushed himself upright so he could loom threateningly over the older boy.

Jean growled his irritation but before he could think of an appropriate threat, the freckled nuisance responded by making a face like Jean was the one who just did something wrong 

"Lie down," Marco snapped. "You'll only injure yourself further, putting so much weight in your injuries like that."

Jean made a face and grunted a reflexive and defensive "I'm fine!" but he still stopped to check on the half-assed bandaging on his arm and hand. Thankfully, there wasn't any new blood seeping through. He couldn't see what condition his injured leg was in without getting off Marco and letting him go, but the lack of pain and stinging suggested that Jean somehow managed to avoid tearing any of the stitches. "Yeah," Jean said, "It's fine. Could be worse."

The answer clearly wasn't good enough for Marco because his face scrunched up in an expression full of exasperation and worry.

"No, it's not fine," Marco said crossly. "How do you expect to heal properly if you don't ever stop to rest? It's especially important now that we're being actively pursued by the Scouting Legion's best trackers. We have to take advantage of every break we can get."

Jean shot back: "And whose fault do you think it is that I'm still awake?"

Marco stared blankly for a full minute before exclaiming "Mine?!" in a scandalized voice. "You really think that it's all my fault, and not the nightmares'?"

With a perfect lead-in like that, Jean considered bringing up Marco's own night terrors and asking about all the things that were turning Marco into an insomniac. It seemed only fair to know since he (albeit unintentionally) told Marco all about the things that were preventing Jean from getting any meaningful rest. In the end, though, Jean decided to grunt "yeah" and leave it at that. Now was not the time to navigate that particular minefield.

Marco's anger faltered as a thought occurred to him.

"Jean, were you were asleep? Really, truly finally getting some real sleep?" When Jean nodded emphatically, Marco said "oh" in a tiny voice. "I-I thought you were keeping watch but kept drifting off accidentally so I just wanted to help by... and so I..." Marco's face was hot with guilt and embarrassment. "If you want to go back to sleep now, I will leave you alone. I promise! Or if you just want to lay here and do nothing for a while then that's okay too?" He caught the dangling hem of Jean's sweater and tugged gently. "I'll take care of everything until we have to break camp. Okay? Jean?"

Jean allowed himself to be coaxed into laying back down but it was more due to the rocks digging painfully into his elbows than because Marco wanted it. It was too late to admit that Marco's intuition about what Jean was intending to do had actually been spot-on, so Jean decided to make amends by keeping the grumbling and smart-ass comments to himself for a while. Marco had enough on his plate already. Jean waited patiently, lying passively on Marco like a human blanket until he couldn't feel any more nervous energy buzzing through Marco's still not warm enough body, before breaking the silence with a cautious question. 

"Hey, Marco?" 

Marco's cheek was pressed against on the crown of Jean's head, so his breath stirred the light brown hair when he sighed out a drowsy, "Yeah?"

Jean paused to choose his words carefully. He didn't want to disturb the peace that had settled over them, but the questions persistently buzzing around inside his head refused to be ignored. Jean wouldn't be able to sleep until he got at least a few solid answers. 

"Didn't you say it takes a lot of energy and concentration to heal?"

Marco hummed an affirmative.

"More than a Shifter needs?"

"Uh huh."

Jean waited for more words but that, apparently, was all the information that a sleepy and content Marco was capable of offering without prompting. "Is that the reason why it took you so long to let me know you survived?" Jean clarified after a slight pause, "Because you were unconscious most of the time?"

Marco snorted like he just heard something funny but the smile on his face wasn't a happy one. 

Alarmed by the response, Jean demanded, "What is it?"

"Damage this extensive can't be turned over to the automatic process," Marco said like it was as obvious as the colour of the sky. "It's not smart enough to know how repair so much damage with so little time and energy available. It would've killed me by doing something stupid, like using up everything on re-growing skin and bone first when what I really needed were—" Marco cut himself off "—well, uh, you know. Not useless things."

Jean felt ill."...like non-essential organs?" 

"Yes," Marco said, looking strangely pleased that Jean remembered. "Exactly like that! If you'd like, I can ex—" 

"No thanks," Jean interrupted. "I'm good. Moving on."

Marco smiled like he expected that response. "Okay. Well, the main point is that my health wasn't the main reason why I took so long to contact you."

Jean blinked. "It wasn't?" Then what was?

One of Marco's fingers tapped on Jean's back, right over the emblem of blue and white wings. 

"I was sure that everything that happened in Trost would convince you that seeking the protection of the Military Police was the best possible route to take, so that is where I went to find you once I…"—Marco's eyes darted off to the side—"recovered enough," he mumbled while staring off into the shadows underneath the ferns and bushes. 

Jean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and point out (again) that he knew Marco's tell when he was trying to lie. Jean sneered mentally. "Recovered enough" he says. Knowing Marco's work ethic, it was more like: he stayed put long enough to stop himself from dying immediately from loss of blood or catastrophic organ failure before encasing what was left of his innards in just enough flesh and bone so they weren't in constant danger of falling out whenever Marco moved. 

"And since the Military Police only accepts a handful of soldiers each year," Marco continued on as if he didn't see the look on Jean's face and know what it meant, "it didn't take long for me to figure out that you weren't there."

"Oh?" Jean said. 

Marco sighed and shook his head. "Have you forgotten already? Think about it, Jean. We've been living and working inside the walls for hundreds of years. For generations. I didn't actually need to go anywhere near Sina. I dragged myself out there because I thought you were in the MP, so it'd save me time to ask where your new unit was in person rather than wait for a letter to get there and then wait a reply to come back and then I could finally head out to find you. Fortunately, I had a few errands to run there anyway so it wasn't a complete waste of time."

"Oh," Jean said. 

In retrospect, it was obvious the Marco wasn't idle during the time they spent apart. It was also obvious that whatever it was that Marco got mixed up in, it was something big. No ordinary crisis would be enough to drive someone in the brink of death to get up and go back to work. It had to be bad news but exactly how bad was something that Jean couldn't even begin to imagine. 

What sort of disaster could force Marco's kind of Titan to come out of hiding? His was an unknown breed of monster that was, to be perfectly honest, utterly terrifying in ways that Shifters like Annie only came close, to because she wasn't that much older than Jean.

Marco's kind were a completely different magnitude of scary. They have been hiding inside of the walls for hundreds of years with nobody the wiser. Someone as brutally honest as Marco was able to make it through the military training camp headed by the hard-ass former Commander of the Scouting Legion without rousing any suspicion about his true nature and Marco was eventually granted permission to head to the very heart of Humanity's territory. That suggested that there was at least one person nearby who helped by covering up some of Marco's many fuckups, which in turn meant that Marco wasn't working alone. There was a very good chance that Marco wasn't the first one to accomplish such a feat. The reason why Marco escaped notice could be because he was following a well-worn path laid out by countless predecessors. The Military Police and Garrison and even the fucking Scouting Legion itself could be filled with human-sized Titans. And if that was the case, then Marco's kind were playing a very long and terrifying game. They were so confident in their skills and ability to blend in that they could afford to spend generations moving people into position. They wouldn't need to kick down any walls to accomplish their goals. 

"You have nothing to worry about," Marco said suddenly.

"Huh?" Jean blurted out, fighting to keep the fear and irrational guilt from colouring his voice or altering his expression, "I'm not worried about nothing." 

Marco was smiling when he reached up to comb his fingers through Jean's messy hair. Jean's eyes slid closed almost of their own volition and he leaned into the familiar warmth before abruptly coming back to his senses. Jean tried to move of reach of those damn distracting hands but his attempt to escape was immediately thwarted when Marco's grip tightened in his hair. It wasn't to point of pain, but just firm enough to hold Jean in place. 

Jean met Marco's dark eyes and not trusting his voice to not betray him, made an inquisitive noise in his throat. 

"I will help you with whatever it is that you've been so worried about," Marco declared. He waited a beat for the words to sink in and for Jean to realize that this was a statement of intent and not a polite-but-insincere gesture. He continued. "But if it is me that you're scared of..." Marco gave a helpless little shrug and smiled weakly. "Don't be? Please? I know that I have no right to ask this of you, but please believe me when I say that I'm through with lying" —he paused just long enough to make Jean wonder if there was a "to you, specifically" buried in the silence— "and I promise that nobody will come after you if you decide that this is too much and you want to back out." 

"Do you really mean that," Jean asked harshly. It stung to realize that Marco was still convinced that they were only one argument away from shattering their friendship into a million irreparable pieces. Did he really think that Jean's loyalty could be so easily broken? "Are you telling me in complete seriousness that you would let me walk away with all of your people's hundreds of years old secrets?"

Marco nodded quickly. 

"What makes you so sure that I wouldn't try to buy my way back into the Scouting Legion's good books with the information? I could—fuck." Jean was already cringing at his mistake when Marco began to shake with barely suppressed laughter. "Shut up. It's not that funny." 

"I'm sorry," Marco said, not looking the least bit apologetic. 

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered. 

"It's just that... really, Jean?" Marco managed to choke his laughter down to giggles that bubbled out every now and then. "Even hypothetically, are you really asking me that? Don't you remember what happened the last time this subject came up?" Marco gave an annoyed huff that was only half-feigned. "You punched me! In my injured shoulder, no less. And then you got all mad and yelled at me using this exact example – that you had countless opportunities take my secrets to your superior officers but chose not to – because..." Marco's words trailed off as he looked at Jean, who suddenly found the trees to be extremely interesting. "You wanted me to trust you more? Or was it for more sentimental reasons?" 

"Is it funny to torture me by asking questions that you already know the answers to?" 

Marco gave a non-committal hum. 

"In any case, Jean, I think we should bury this topic and agree that despite all of stupid lies we've told each other over the years, the important thing is that what we have is genuine and... hey!" Marco lightly slapped Jean's back. "Don't you make that face at me! I'm serious! We were best friends back then and we are still friends now, so there is nothing we have to prove. Not to the others and definitely not to each other."

Jean rolled his eyes. "I don't think I'll ever get how you can say such embarrassing things with a straight face." 

"Why would I be ashamed of telling the truth?"

"Nevermind." Jean shook his head and dismissed the topic. "So what's the plan from here? How're we going to lose the Scouting Legion?" He eyed Marco. "Hey… you know, depending on how big you get when you Shift, we might be able to use it to escape since they're looking for two humans and a horse, not a mindless Titan running off with a snack." 

"Why are you so interested in seeing me naked?!" Marco demanded, exasperated. "You already know what Titan bodies are like! There is nothing special about mine that you"—he jabbed Jean in the chest with an accusatory finger while trying to ignore the blush that making his face feel uncomfortably warm—"haven't already seen before." 

Jean pretended to be hurt by the accusation even though he knew perfectly well what Marco was referring to. Privacy was an extremely rare commodity back in Trainee Camp. The showers were communal and everyone slept in bunks that were pushed so close together that all you had to do to end up in someone else's bed was to roll over too far, as everyone quickly discovered. It was extremely fortunate that the first assignments put them in adjacent beds because Jean was a restless sleeper who was accustomed to having a wall to stop him and Marco had a tendency to latch on like a bur to anything warm that came within easy grabbing distance.

"Are you accusing me of being some kind of pervert?" Jean said, trying not to smile when he recognized the sarcastic expression as one that Marco picked up from exposure to Jean.

"Who else but a pervert would keep asking someone to get naked?" 

"But the Titan isn't—"

"It is," Marco interrupted. 

"It—whoa! Hey, be careful!" Jean caught Marco by the shoulders as he struggled to push himself upright. 

It wasn't appropriate to have such a conversation while lying down, Marco thought crossly, feeling drowsy and so comfortable curled up together to make it easy to forget that they were in the middle of running for their lives. He thanked Jean with an absentminded pat on the thigh and a flash of a smile before pulling away so he could sit up properly with hands folded in his lap. 

"Jean," Marco said with enough gravity to make the smile completely drop off the younger boy's face. "Please don't make the mistake of thinking that just because I happen to prefer being this size, that it means I'm human. Or that this body"—Marco tapped his finger on a right temple which, according to everything currently known about Titan and Human biology, should not be there—"is human." Marco's expression and voice softened with regret. "I am, and always have been, a Titan."

"I know that," Jean snapped.

Marco said dryly, "You knew." 

Jean nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, defensively. "You bet I did." 

"That's pretty amazing," Marco said mildly as he pulled out the small metal tin from his breast pocket. "I was sure that seeing me walking around after Battle of Trost was when you realized that I wasn't normal." He popped one of the hard candies in his mouth and held out the tin. "If I was wrong, then when did you figure it out?"

Jean took one of the candies –this time not bothering to look for a small one because there really was nothing else to eat—and shrugged. "I might not have put all the pieces together to consciously come up with 'my best friend is a Titan spy' until recently, but to be perfectly honest? I did have a feeling for a long time that there was something weird about you. Something not quite right."

"Yeah? Where did I mess up?" Marco asked with genuine curiosity and interest. 

"It was a lot of little things that added up," Jean said. Looking back on their years in the Trainee Corps, he could now see the truth driving many of the behaviours that were originally wrote off as due to Marco growing up in the middle of nowhere. "But the most damning single thing is probably your accent." 

Marco's eyes widened and he clapped both hands over his mouth. 

Jean grinned, not bothering to hide how absurdly pleased with himself he felt for solving a mystery that had been bothering him for a very long time. 

"It's a little too late for that, doncha think?" 

Jean didn't actually know that Marco's weird accent was anything special; it was an educated guess. The accent could have been nothing more than embarrassing evidence that Marco hailed from one of the most rural of rural villages – a place even more obscure than Ragako or Dauper – but Jean knew that the answer couldn't be the most obvious one. After all, there was only one language still used inside the walls and the one Marco spoke back in the abandoned hunter's cabin was not it. 

Marco made a pitiful noise deep in his throat and dropped his hands with a defeated sigh. "You know," he said, allowing his full accent to roll through the words. "I tried to get rid of this before enlisting but it just won't go away no matter what I do."

"Why would you do that?" Jean protested, "It sounds good! And couldn't you just pass it off as a Jinae accent?" 

"Well, yes, I could. And I did, if anyone ever asked, but"—Marco's accent suddenly changed to something that sounded very similar to, but was distinctly different from, the one he was just speaking in—"there is just one problem with that plan. As you can probably hear." Marco settled back into the accent-free voice that Jean was accustomed to listening hearing. "They're different enough that anyone with good ears and a good memory will be able to tell that the Jinae accent is actually bastardized version of my real accent." 

"Wait," Jean said slowly, hesitantly. The full implications of Marco's words finally sank through the sleep-deprived parts of Jean's mind to create a very unsettling picture. "It's a bastardization? So… what, you openly speak your Titan language back home?" 

"Of course," Marco said. "It is my first language, after all."

Jean stared at Marco in stunned silence. But that could mean… "Is everyone in Jinae is a Titan?" 

"What?!" Marco gave a startled bark of laughter and flapped a hand dismissively. "No, of course not! Don't be silly, Jean. Silly Jean," Marco murmured fondly as took advantage of Jean's surprise to plant a firm kiss on his friend's unresisting lips, "forgetting how different Titans and Humans are."

Suddenly remembering the class lectures on boring stuff like "minimum viable population" and the dire warning that Titans weren't the only thing threatening to wipe out humanity within a few generations so there was no shame in leaving the military to pursue a civilian career, Jean couldn't stop himself from asking a question that Marco was probably going to refuse to answer. 

"Assuming that you guys aren't super inbred or live forever or something," Jean said, "how are you guys still around? Are Titans and Humans able to—"

Marco crossed his arms defiantly, as expected, and said, "No. I refuse to answer. I don't want to think about my relatives' sex lives, much less discuss it, and you can't make me!" And then Marco struggled to his feet and began to break camp to send a clear signal he wanted this particular conversation over. 

Guilt prodded Jean into getting up to help. "Hey, I don't want to know that sort of stuff either," Jean muttered sourly. "I'm just asking how it works in general." 

Marco turned away and folded the tarp with more care and attention than the task actually required. 

"Ultimately," Marco said in a voice that was too calm to be genuine, "all Titans like me are part of the same clan. That means that they are family as far as I'm concerned, so please keep that in mind when you ask me to explain things related to bodily functions." 

"Oh. 'm sorry," Jean said meekly, because he didn't realize the situation was like that. "I wouldn't have asked if I knew." 

"Yes, you would have." Marco gave a loud sigh, but he still turned around with a smile to show that he wasn't as upset by the rude questions as he could be. "This is a very unusual situation for you. I understand that you're curious and have a lot of questions and, normally, I'd be happy to answer them…"

"But?" Jean prompted. 

Marco scratched his nose and stared at the ground and awkwardly shuffled his feet. "Nothing that requires me to think about what my relatives and neighbours do in the bedroom." His voice was pained when he added, "Please." 

"Done." Jean agreed easily because he didn't want to think about Marco's relatives like that either, especially when there was a good chance that he'd have to meet them later. "What about questions about you?" 

"Me?" Marco blinked, then looked down at himself as if the answer to what Jean found so fascinating about his body could be found written down somewhere on his arms or torso. "I don't think there's anything interesting left to tell you about my body, but okay? I'll talk. It's only fair since I did put you through a lot, even though it was accidental. And besides, now we're…"—he glanced up shyly through his lashes—"p-partners?" 

Under normal circumstances, the term was more ambiguous than Jean would've accepted from someone he cared about, but it was probably most appropriate one that Marco could've chosen given their current circumstances. They couldn't be 'just friends' anymore, not after a confession and acknowledgement that it wasn't a one-sided affection, but nor were they boyfriends. Not really. They had no need to go on ice-breaker type dates because they had lived together (in the barracks) for three whole years, and looking for the other because they missed their company was already part of their normal routine. It was like Marco already said: nothing changed. 

But at the same time, it wasn't the same. Jean's unexpected nervousness about spending a few hours soaking up Marco's excess heat was proof enough that things had already begun to change. 

"Yeah," Jean said with more confidence than he actually felt, "sounds good to me." 

Marco's relieved smile was blindingly sunny. 

"Great!" He gushed. "I mean, okay. That's good. I'm glad you agree." Marco scooped up one of the saddle bags and whistled to summon Buchwald from wherever it was the horse wandered off to. "So what do you say about getting an early start to the day, Jean? It seems a little foolish to go back to sleep now that we've finished packing everything up."

"Huh?"

Jean looked around the campsite in surprise. There weren't a lot of things to put away since he was too worried about leaving Marco to face the Scouting Legion alone to think about grabbing more than the bare essentials, but it was still starling to see that Marco was right. It was a good thing that they could break camp so quickly and efficiently but Jean really wasn't looking forward to another day of sharing a saddle. Buchwald was okay with carrying both of them for now but he wouldn't be able to last forever. The only choices that he could see was either steal a horse for Marco, or let Buchwald go and continue on by foot to wherever Marco felt like leading them. 

There was one more option, Jean thought as he eyed Marco's back contemplatively, but he was pretty sure that the answer was going to be another a firm "no". On the other hand, Marco had been shockingly candid and relaxed about revealing some potentially life-threatening hundreds of years old secrets. Maybe another surprise was in store. It couldn't hurt to ask. 

"Buchwald's not going to last at the pace we're setting," Jean said as he picked up the other saddlebag and placed it in Marco's outstretched hand. 

"You're right." Marco gave the horse an affectionate pat on the neck. "Do you have any ideas?"

"How did you get around before I started tagging along?" 

Marco looked up from the saddle. It was clear from the expression on Jean's face that he was expecting to hear something like "I Shifted to cover more distance" so he could use it as an example of why it would be better if Marco was walking around gigantic and naked. It was true that Marco's human-sized body would remain whole and fully clothed after he transformed, like a Shifter, but his consciousness would be completely transferred over to his Titan-sized one. It would become Marco's primary body and therefore, he would be nude. In front of the boy he liked more than anyone else. 

No. 

Absolutely not.

Also, there was just enough lingering anger over being asked so many rude and invasive questions that Marco didn't feel as bad as he normally would've for lying. He looked Jean straight in the eyes while wearing his best "sheltered and eager-to-please innocent country boy" mask and declared that he walked everywhere, of course, because stealing horses was wrong and so was sneaking rides on merchants' vehicles. Jean looked at him with narrowed and suspicious eyes. Marco stared back evenly the way he would if he was telling the whole truth and wondered if Jean figured it out. 

Jean sighed gustily and turned away. "Figures," he muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "Should we leave Buchwald behind now or what?"

"I'm not sure," Marco admitted. "The Scouting Legion is not so dense that they won't be able to figure out who we are just because we're now on foot, but we won't be able to outrun them with just one horse between us either. What the nearest town? Is it Trost? Maybe we can lose them in the crowd there."

Jean shook his head. "Not unless you know someone in Garrison who can keep our descriptions from circulating. Southern Garrison likes the Scouting Legion." Jean looked up at the still-dark sky and groaned wearily. "We have no choice but to go, though. We don't have enough stuff with us to last more than a couple days on the road." Jean plucked at the emblem of wings on his breast pocket. "At the very least, we will need different clothes. These draw way too much attention." 

Jean decided that they should stop wasting time by standing around and talking. Even if they didn't know where they should be heading to now, the important thing was to keep moving so they could evade capture. He swung himself into Buchwald's saddle and offered a helping hand to Marco, who stared at it hesitantly. Marco remembered how he would've fallen from the saddle yesterday if Jean wasn't sitting behind him. If they got into another battle and Marco needed to use his Titan senses to avoid pursuit, it would be better if Jean was there to catch him if he overexerted himself again. Marco pressed a hand on Jean's leg and that seemed to be enough to convey his concerns to the younger boy. Jean gave a childishly exaggerated roll of his eyes but obediently scooted back so Marco could claim the front.

They were riding in complete silence for a couple of minutes before Marco broke it to say: "Actually, Jean? I think I do know someone in Garrison that will be able to help us hide."

"No kidding?" 

Marco nodded. "If it's something small like not telling anyone that we passed through the gates, then yeah." 

Jean leaned forward so he could look at the side of Marco's face and tried not to cringe when he realized that it was the scarred side. "Are you sure this person can be trusted? Not that I'm saying you're a bad judge of character or anything, but we can't be too careful right now." 

"I'm sure." 

"Really," Jean said flatly, not bothering to keep the scepticism out of his voice. 

Marco glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. "Really," he said, and shifted his gaze back to the trail. 

Jean gave an irritated huff of air that warmed the back of Marco's neck and shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "Fine. But if we get captured…" His words trailed off into a stunned and suspicious silence when Marco smiled suddenly, like a maniac, and Jean immediately demanded: "What are you planning now, you freckled nuisance?" 

"Rude," Marco chided, but it was clear that he was too amused to take offense. His chocolate brown eyes were glittering with mischief. "And everything will be fine, Jean. Don't worry. I won't let anything dangerous happen to you."

"…That you chose to use that specific word is making me really worried."

"Don't be," Marco assured. "Don't you trust me?" 

"Against my better judgement, yeah. I do. More than I should. Fuck, you'd better not be tricking me." 

"I'm not!"

"Then fine." Jean groaned in defeat and dropped his head to rest on Marco's shoulder. "Whatever. It's not like I've really got a choice anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get the chapter done before the end of the year but, as you can see, I didn't quite make it. This time the delays were mostly because these two troublemakers wouldn't stop derailing the plot. I'll leave it to your imagination as to what direction they were trying to take the story in.


	20. Chapter 20

"Marco, your plan is fucking terrible. There is no way it's going to work." 

"It will," Marco insisted. "I shouldn't need to remind you that I have a lot of experience with passing myself off as someone harmless and not worth remembering. Trust me, Jean. I can get us into Trost without a problem."

"Getting into town isn't the part I'm worried about," Jean hissed, keeping a wary eye on the Garrison soldiers standing next to the only way in or out of Trost. 

"Getting out won't be a problem either once we've changed our clothes."

"Again, not what I'm worried about."

Marco turned his head just enough to see Jean's face and when he saw the rigid posture and the darting eyes and the carefully too-blank expression, Marco's growing irritation drained away. Jean looked like he was expecting to the Scouting Legion's pursuers to suddenly leap out of the bushes or for one of the civilian travellers waiting in line with them to suddenly rip off their clothes and dramatically declare that it was all a ruse and the two traitors were under arrest. It was a forceful and unwanted reminder that Jean was, at his core, a good person. He was honest and perceptive and compassionate enough to ignore his own discomfort and act for the sake of others without asking for anything in return. Jean claimed that he understood why someone he thought of as a friend — his best and most trusted friend — didn't return the sentiment. The trust. Jean said that he was okay with the lies and that he saw the necessity of such things but Marco knew there was a part of Jean that would never forgive him or understand why Marco chose to act the way he did. 

Because Jean was a good person and Marco... wasn't. Couldn't. No matter how much he wished it or how hard he tried, Marco could never be a person like Jean.

But at present, seeing how unsettled and fearful he looked, Marco thought that perhaps this was a good thing. Maybe. At least one of them had enough experience with such stressful and dangerous situations that something like slipping unnoticed past a checkpoint wasn't a big deal. 

Now if only he could convince Jean of this fact. 

Marco asked "Is there something I've overlooked?" in a tone with just enough skepticism to rouse Jean's ire. He hoped it would be enough to stop his friend from looking every bit like a criminal on the run. Jean's hands twitched like he wanted to start making angrily dramatic gestures but they stayed put where they were wrapped around Marco's waist. His grip, however, did increase to an almost painful degree so at least the attempt wasn't completely unsuccessful.

Jean leaned forward to growl his words in a voice that was pitched too low to be overheard. 

"You still haven't explained how you're going to get all those guys from Garrison to forget about us. Or all these civilians who're not going to have much trouble remembering two healthy-looking guys riding a single horse for no apparent reason." 

"You're overestimating how interesting and memorable we are to tired travellers who've been waiting in line for longer than we've been awake," Marco said in a rush so Jean wouldn't have an opening to interject with complaints and criticisms. "And you should know, being a Trost native yourself, how likely it is for the average person here to want to help the Scouting Legion after what happened."

Jean's grip loosened. "I dunno," he mumbled suddenly, "I haven't gone home lately." 

"O-oh…" Marco said weakly. He remembered that the last time his friend was in Trost, it was under orders to assist with cleaning up the aftermath. He swallowed down the automatic apology for his role in the incident and plastered on a sunny and oblivious smile that, hopefully, Jean was too distracted to see through as fake. "In that case, we should drop by your house while we're here." 

Jean gave a panicked yelp of "What? No!" before slapping Marco's chest in irritation when the older boy started to laugh. "You are not going to visit my parents, do you hear me?! You have enough blackmail material already!" 

Marco caught Jean's hands and pinned them securely against his stomach. 

"If we do visit them, it's not so I can gossip about you, but because I don't think it's proper for your parents to learn about your decision to leave the Scouting Legion from a third party — especially if that third party is the Scouting Legion itself. You can probably imagine what sort of lies and twisted half-truths they'll tell your parents if they think it will help their investigation into your, uh, sudden change of heart." Marco glanced over his shoulder. "I can wait outside while you talk to them if you're genuinely worried about having us in the same room together."

Jean shook his head. "That's not what I'm worried about." 

"Liar," Marco accused, smiling. 

"It's not the main thing I'm worried about," Jean amended obediently. "It's just that... hmm. How should I put it? They're worse at acting than you are."

"Thanks," Marco said dryly. 

"I'd much rather have them alive and pissed enough to disown me than the alternative, which is what will happen if I tell them what's going on and then soldiers show up looking for answers. It's… less bad, this way."

Marco didn't agree with Jean's decision but giving up the argument was an easy choice to make. His primary goal was to restore Jean to good spirits, after all, because the novelty of having an obedient (but mopey) Jean had worn off quickly. Marco much preferred the usual stubborn and argumentative one. 

"We'll do it your way then," Marco said. "We'll grab what we need for the road and leave right away."

"Hey," Jean interjected suddenly. "Hey, Marco? You know that I'm not saying 'no' because I'm embarrassed by you or anything, right? It's just that now is a really bad time. I'll take you to meet them later when things settle down and we're not actively being hunted. I swear."

"You don't have to do that." Marco, genuinely surprised by the offer and strangely touched that Jean was volunteering to endure the humiliation of bringing someone home to meet his parents, couldn't stop himself from responding in kind. "But okay, I accept your offer. And if we ever find ourselves near Jinae, I will let you grill my parents and siblings for embarrassing childhood stories."

"Ha! I knew you were lying when you said your childhood was super boring and I heard the worst of it already!" Jean grinned. "We are definitely swinging by your hometown at some point." 

"Sure, but I can't guarantee that you'll find any of the stories very interesting," Marco said with a casual shrug that was too well-timed to be genuine. "They're the same as anyone else's dumb childhood stories with the sole exception of the, ah, scale of the incidents. It's pretty much all normal stuff like, you know, putting things in my mouth that I wasn't supposed to."

"Like people?" 

Marco turned to give Jean a narrow-eyed glare. He knew it was probably meant as a joke, but Jean has said the words so seriously that he couldn't help but wonder if the comment was actually a jab at Marco's non-human nature. Or maybe it was probing question meant to gauge how scared for his life Jean should be? If it really was just a joke, then it was one in pretty poor taste. Much to his irritation, rather than look contrite at the verbal blunder, Jean met Marco's narrow-eyed stare with a toothy grin, like making Marco lose his temper was the highlight of his day. 

"No," Marco snapped, too irritated now to phrase his reply diplomatically. "Even if I did eat someone — which I just might now — nothing permanently bad would happen. Our stomachs don't work like that. The only reason we even have one in that form is to keep all of the other internal organs in place. You would just sit in there, completely unharmed, until either I felt like spitting you out or you got brave enough to carve your way out. Whichever came first."

"O-oh...kay." Jean thought about cracking a dirty joke to try and lighten the mood but he had a feeling that it would have the opposite reaction than intended. The safest route was to just mumble an apology and kept his mouth shut for a while, so that was exactly what he did.

Marco stared for a second longer before turning back around, satisfied enough with the sincerity he saw on Jean's face to drop the issue. He was too peeved to respond to any of Jean's attempts to change the subject so they eventually lapsed into an uneasy and tense silence. Marco tried to occupy himself by thinking of plausible stories to tell the Garrison soldiers who were slowly making their way down the line, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore Jean. The temptation to react to the warmth of Jean's breath on the back of his neck was nearly overwhelming. As was the way that Jean's idle hands, no longer frozen in a deer-like shock, drifted down and started playing with the metal fasteners of the harness belts at Marco's waist. Jean was probably just bored and restless, Marco reminded himself sternly. He wasn't subtle or patient enough to use such indirect methods to get revenge.

Which, as it turned out, Marco's intuition was right. 

Jean had relaxed the moment he no longer found himself the sole target of Marco's irritation. He managed to genuinely anger Marco enough times to know that the best method to deal with his anger was to leave him alone until he cooled off. That meant conversation was not an option. With nothing else to do to alleviate his boredom, Jean took the opportunity able to review their conversation with a much less panicked mind. He focused attention on the new information that Marco might not have intentionally revealed about how his Titan body worked: their stomachs and digestive organs weren't actually functional. 

It was well-known that Titans didn't need to eat to stay alive, but something did happen to the humans that were swallowed by them. Jean could vividly recall the strange condition of the bodies of devoured humans that were later found vomited up by Titans. The bodies weren't digested. They were, however, covered in a strange substance that glued the corpses together into a single gruesome mass so there was obviously something still inside the stomach. In contrast, Marco claimed that (physically, at least) Jean would be completely unharmed if he did the same thing. 

And that was a pretty big difference. 

Maybe Marco was right to get so pissy about how he shouldn't be referred to as a "Shifter" if his kind really were that different on the biological level. 

Assuming that Marco was telling the whole truth and wasn't forgetting any important details that weren't obvious to non-Titans, then it would mean that Marco's kind — the Bodt clan's Titans — would be significantly different from the other kinds of Titan. That, in turn, would mean that the Titans that humanity encountered up until now were more similar biologically to Shifters and, by extension, humans. That would place Marco and the other Bodt clan types on the other side of the scale. Closer to "monster" and farther from "human". Were they a different species entirely, then? Marco claimed that they all shared a common root but in Jean's admittedly less-than-expert opinion, the differences were too great to be explained away as genetic drift or mutation over the generations. 

Unfortunately, Jean was pulled from his musings by a Garrison soldier stopping dead in his tracks right next to them. He gave Marco a narrowed-eyed look of irritation that would've made Instructor Shadis proud and the soldier's face remained stony while Marco gave a tittering little laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. 

"Tell me if I'm correct in assuming"—the soldier's eyes moved down to focus on Marco's chest—"Cadet Bott, that you're here to ask for a favour?"

Marco sat up straighter and saluted. "No, sir. I'm just here to visit."

"Sure you are." The soldier gave a very expressive roll of his eyes that said exactly what he thought about Marco's claim. "Well, one's out on patrol right and the other's somewhere up top. Someone over there"—he flapped a dismissive hand in the direction of the gate—"will know where to find 'em."

"Oh. Thank you, sir! I really appreciate you help." 

Marco nudged Buchwald to leave the line-up and risked taking a hand off the reins just long enough to salute.

"Yeah, yeah. I'd better not see you taking up one of the beds later!" The soldier shouted at Marco's back. 

"You won't, sir, I promise!" Marco called over his shoulder. 

As soon as the guard turned away, Jean hissed, "Care to explain what the hell just happened?" 

"Not now," Marco whispered back without turning his head. Louder and with a big friendly smile, Marco called out "Hello!" and caused one of the gate's guards, a scruffy old man who looked like he was very close to dozing off, to jolt upright. He raised his cup in greeting and something that smelled pungently alcoholic spilled out. 

Marco saluted again once he came to a stop beside the checkpoint. "Good morning, Sir!" He pretended not to notice the way the guard and Jean both flinched at the volume of his voice. "I am Cadet Bott and if it's not too much trouble, I would like to ask for your assistance. The soldier back there said that you might know where I can find—"

"Another Bott, right?" The guard interrupted. 

"Yes, sir!"

The guard discreetly covered his ear with a hand by pretending lean on the counter. He looked off toward the city and Marco took advantage of the distraction to nudge Jean with an elbow while hissing "stop fidgeting!" through a smile full of gritted teeth. So far, Marco managed to keep everyone's attention away from the other person riding with him and he wanted to keep it that way. 

The Garrison soldier raised his free hand and pointed at the ceiling. 

"Ana should be right above us but I can't let a Cadet up on the wall. The brass suddenly got some kinda bug up their butts about following regulations, as if that would've been able to keep Titans out, so I can't make an exception. Not even if you're a Bott. Sorry, kid." 

Marco's face fell. "It's okay. I understand." He picked up the reins and nudged Buchwald to start backing up. "Thank you for your time," he mumbled politely.

"Hey," the guard called out after a few seconds of looking at Marco's crestfallen expression. "You can try your luck by the southeast market. Miguel would be done his rounds by now but he's on shopping duty this week. He might still be there if you hurry." 

Marco looked over his shoulder with a troubled expression, staring back down the road like he was seriously thinking about going to line up at the rear of the queue. 

"Hey!" The scruffy garrison soldier caught the attention of his companion standing on the other side of the wall and made some sort of cryptic hand gesture, then pointed at Marco. The soldier on the other side nodded. "Okay, kid, go on through."

Marco protested. "But it's not right to—"

"You're causing more trouble by holding up the line," the soldier pointed out curtly. 

Marco looked like he really wanted to argue further but instead nodded silently and gave a quick salute as thanks. He turned Buchwald toward Trost and passed through the gate, slowing down just long enough to give the soldier on the other side a big smile of thanks before heading in the direction indicated. A couple blocks away from the gate, the crowd thinned out enough that Marco felt it was safe to allow Buchwald to speed up. Marco kept up a steady stream of meaningless banal chatter as they proceeded down the quieter streets until they had once again reached the safety of a crowd of distracted civilians. Marco slowed Buchwald to a stop and twisted to face Jean.

"Is there somewhere here that it's safe to leave Buchwald? We shouldn't bring him into the market with us." 

Jean dismounted and helped Marco down before answering. 

"Turning him loose here is fine." Jean patted his horse on the rump and smirked. "We're not too far from the usual route I take home, so he knows the way. He'll probably make straight for Dad's garden the moment you turn him loose in hopes that maybe this time, he'll be able to eat something before he's caught." 

Marco's grip tightened on the reins. "But what if nobody's home to stop him? He'll eat all of your mom's ingredients for cooking!"

"If they've gone out, I'm sure one of the neighbours'll catch Buchwald and tie him up before he can do too much damage. This guy's a regular escape artist. Everyone knows the drill by now."

Jean removed the saddle bags holding all of their possessions and slung them over his shoulder before turning to take the reins away. It took a couple seconds of struggling before he was able to pry them loose from Marco's hands so he could let Buchwald go. Marco watched the horse walk away at a brisk pace with a worried expression. 

"I really hope you're right," Marco mumbled. 

"I am, so stop worrying." Jean slapped Marco on his good shoulder and started toward the market's stalls. "Now why don't we get some shopping done while you explain what happened back there with Garrison? Or is it still not safe to talk here?"

Marco hurried to grab hold of Jean's wrist before they could get separated by the crowd and held it in a light, easy to break grip.

"We won't attract much attention so it'll be okay as long as we don't talk too loudly about certain topics," Marco said quietly. "Anyone looking at us will just see a kind-hearted Scouting Legion soldier who took pity on the pathetic cadet who got stuck running punishment errands. That's a pretty regular sight around here, if memory serves. I think just about everyone got send here at least once." 

Jean nodded. "It was either this or running endless laps around the training compound and Sasha was the only one nutty enough to prefer that punishment. Now why don't you quit stalling and explain things already?"

"I'm not stalling. I just... don't know where to start." 

Marco's pace slowed down to a crawl as he looked around at all the store fronts and little market stalls, overwhelmed by the variety available even though the town was still in the middle of recovering from near destruction. Their budget for getting themselves fully prepared for an extended flight into the wilderness to avoid the military was really pathetic — it was the pocket money Marco had on him on the graduation day, minus the amount spent on room and board on the way to and from Sina, plus what Jean had the presence of mind to grab on the way out. 

Marco clutched his satchel to his chest and stared at the stalls' marked prices with wide eyes. Everything was so expensive. Jean gave a grunt of annoyance as Marco hauled him further down the street in search of better prices only to find, much to his dismay, that everything was significantly more expensive than it was a couple months ago. It was to be expected after what happened but he somehow didn't anticipate that the price hikes could be this bad. Marco's attention was drawn away from his increasingly worried thoughts by the sound of Jean rummaging roughly through one of the saddlebags slung over his shoulder. He watched for a minute, intrigued, and was just opening his mouth to ask what was the matter when Jean extracted something from it. He grabbed the hand that was still loosely wrapped around his wrist and slapped a worn-down old wallet into Marco's palm. 

"Jean?" 

When Jean heard Marco's surprised intake of breath when he realized what he held, Jean was quick to defend himself. 

"Take it. You're better at haggling down prices than me, anyway." 

The wallet was heavy enough to make Marco really curious about how much money Jean managed to save up. However, he knew better than to count it now because the last thing they needed was to attract the attention of desperate and frustrated locals who had their lives ruined because the military was too slow to mobilize. Marco tucked Jean's wallet into a hidden pocket inside his jacket and adjusted the strap of his bag so it would obstruct any pickpockets trying to take advantage of their distraction. 

"Thank you, Jean." Marco smiled warmly as he leaned into close enough to see the flecks of gold in his friend's brown eyes. "I'll make it up to you somehow. I promise." 

Jean turned his head away and mumbled something that sounded like "don't need to". Marco eventually gave up on trying to catch Jean's eyes again and turned his attention toward the more important task of purchasing enough food and water to last them for a while, two sets of inconspicuous civilian clothes, at least one good blanket, and maybe an actual tent and cooking supplies if there was enough money left over. Marco wandered from stall to stall at an unhurried but steady pace, occasionally stopping to ask the owner a few questions before moving on until he reached the thick of the crowd. Only then did Marco feel it was safe to answer more questions that had been posed to him earlier.

"What I did back there," Marco said without taking his eyes off the crowd, "was use my family's influence and reputation to get us through the gate."

Jean didn't answer immediately. He quietly trailed after Marco and considered about this new nugget of information. He prayed that this wasn't the first step toward confirming all of Jean's most paranoid fears that the Bodts were the law-abiding version of a pulp novel criminal family that was powerful enough to have government officials on their payroll. It might actually be less scary if Marco had simply threatened to turn Titan and crush the Garrison soldiers to a pulp if they didn't forget ever seeing the two of them pass through the gate.

"Is 'reputation' a roundabout way of saying you threatened them with your family's really fucking huge secret?" Jean asked this because the alternative was too unnervingly plausible to consider. 

"No?" Marco gave Jean a strange look. "By 'reputation', I mean exactly that: our reputation. Getting past a checkpoint without being remembered isn't the kind of problem you can solve with brute force. You do know that, right?" 

"Of course I do," Jean retorted, "but what else does your family have to use as leverage? I thought you said they were just farmers." Jean silenced himself when he noticed Marco stepped away to approach a stall and waited patiently until he returned with a pair of jackets tucked under an arm before continuing. "And didn't you say you back there that you knew someone in Garrison who could get us through without a fuss? Why not ask them for help?"

"May I ask you something first, Jean?"

"Huh? Sure." 

"Didn't you think it was odd that a Garrison soldier I've never met before immediately identified me as a Bott?" Marco didn't pause long enough to let Jean to think of a response. "That's because the Botts — that is to say, Tony's side of the family — is a Garrison military family. Every once in a while there's someone like me who just wants to serve the King, but the majority of the time? Botts will choose Garrison even when they finish in the top ten."

"What about the Scouting Legion?" 

Marco slowly turned his head until all Jean could see was the damaged side. 

"Oh. Right. Dumb question." Jean couldn't imagine how stressful it would be to be on constant guard against injury in the military branch with the highest casualty rate. "Only the craziest nutjobs would voluntarily take that sort of risk, right?"

"Right," Marco said with laughter in his eyes. 

Jean wisely decided to not make any smartass comments about Antonio. 

The tension between them had eased significantly since that morning when Marco threatened to eat him if he didn't stop being so annoying — and to be fair, Jean was expecting some sort of retaliation when Marco finally lost his temper, just not something like that. However, it still felt like Jean had to tread lightly. He didn't actually know anything concrete about Marco's relationship with his cousin, like whether there were any major landmine topics to avoid. Antonio already had a pretty low opinion of Jean. The last thing he needed to do was make Antonio even madder while simultaneously pissing Marco off enough to rescind his protection. 

Jean desperately cast about for a safer topic for conversation as he continued to follow Marco around but he could only come up with: "Did you lie about being a farm boy to cover up your family's military pedigree?" Jean immediately cursed himself out mentally, but thankfully, Marco didn't appear offended by the accusation. He just wrinkled his nose and made a playful sort of annoyed face. 

"Do I look like the sort of person who likes freezing my butt off year-round?" 

"I don't see what that has to do with anything, but yeah. No. I remember how you got when we had to go up north for training." Jean smirked. "Warmer body than the rest of us and in no real danger of losing any fingers or toes to frostbite... sometimes you even forgot to put on gloves or a hat and didn't notice until someone pointed it out! And yet still you complained. Bitterly. Damn, you were annoying."

Marco shrugged. He ripped into the bread roll he bought a few stalls ago but ended up with two unevenly sized chunks. He frowned down at it in dismay for a second before turning to offer Jean the larger half, which was declined with a shake of his head. Marco must not have been eating properly because he didn't even make a token protest for politeness' sake before devouring his portion. Jean quickly took his half before it could get absentmindedly eaten. 

"I didn't lie about that part," Marco said once Jean's mouth was occupied with chewing. "I am... how did you put it? A genuine country bumpkin. There's nothing really special about us Bodts aside from, uh, that one big secret. We enjoy living quietly in the middle of nowhere."

"Sounds like torture to me."

"It's not so bad." Marco bumped Jean's shoulder with his. "Hey. You should come home with me sometime and give the country life a try. Who knows? Maybe it'll agree with you."

"I doubt it. I'll just end up injuring myself or looking like a fool, or both, trying to keep up with you guys."

Marco crossed his arms and frowned. "Jean! I'm not inviting you as an excuse to watch you do manual labour—"

"I hadn't even considered that as a possibility until now."

"Wh-what? Oh. Well, good! Because that's not what I'm after."

Jean murmured in Marco's ear, "Really? You have no ulterior motives to inviting me back to your place."

Marco jerked back and clapped a hand over his blush-reddened ear. "Yes! I mean, no! None. None at all." 

Jean burst into laughter and pulled back to a more friend-like distance. "I swear, man, this'll never get old." He clapped Marco on the shoulder. "Here's a word of advice: having impure thoughts about the person you're interested in is perfectly normal. There's no need to keep overreacting like this." 

"Wait. Are you saying that all those times you teased me was just to get a rise out of me?" Marco immediately pointed a finger of warning. "Don't say it. You know what I mean." 

Jean smirked. 

"You're awful, you know that?" Marco paused. "Not that I'm really in a position to throw any stones. But anyway..." Marco looked down at the purchases in their arms. "Do you think we have enough? Did I forgot anything?"

"We're good." 

Jean had taken note of everything as it was purchased and it seemed like all of the essentials were covered. There wasn't as much food as Jean expected to see but then again, Marco was a lot like Sasha in that he was one of those types who could survive on his own in the wilderness. If he didn't buy more food it must be because he was confident that they would be able to find enough to eat along the way. They briefly stopped at an unclaimed booth to take turns ducking out of sight so they could remove the most attention-grabbing parts of their uniforms — the harness, the jacket, the 3DMG itself — and change into the clothes purchased earlier. Afterwards, they carefully repacked everything valuable in either one of the two saddlebags or inside Marco's satchel. The rest was rolled up inside the tarp and they walked away from the market looking like just another pair of boys helping out with the shopping. 

"So, Marco. What do you want to do now? Look for that relative of yours that the guard told us about and beg for help? Uh. Ana, was it?"

"Miguel. Ana is patrolling the wall," Marco corrected. "And no, I don't think we should." He looked down at the ground. "I've been thinking about what you said earlier, Jean, about visiting your parents."

"Yeah?" 

Marco took a deep breath. "And… you're right. There's no need to get more people involved in this mess than absolutely necessary. We'll find our own way out." He glanced up. "I'm sorry in advance if we get stuck here or if anything bad happens." 

"Stuck?" Jean echoed. "Oh. The guards. Right, Garrison is going to be watching for you to make sure you're not actually trying to weasel free room and board out of your relatives. And Eren blocked the only other gate. Damn." 

"Is there a quiet place we can use our gear to slip over the wall?"

"Nope. Well, there is but..." Jean scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. "I don't think I've ever heard Garrison or the MP using their gear around town. Only the Scouting Legion has and their reputation is not really great right now. The sound will attract some sort of attention no matter where we are. We also don't know what kind of patrols Garrison's running up top."

"Then, what about the canals?" Marco pointed at the rubble that was still littering the streets. "With all the reconstruction going on, there should be lots of unfamiliar faces at the docks. What's two more?"

"Why Marco," Jean gasped with a comically wide-eyed look of surprise. "Are you actually suggesting we do something illegal? Ride a boat without paying? I really am a bad influence on you!" 

"Cut that out," Marco said peevishly.

Jean dodged Marco's irritated swipe with ease and held up his hands in surrender. "I'm joking!"

Marco sniffed and turned his head away. "What we're not going to do is hitch a ride without doing something to compensate the owner. You hear me?"

"Of course," Jean mumbled. He made an annoyed face but he still dutifully changed course to lead the way. "What exactly do you have in mind? Got any tricks for avoiding notice that you want to share before we arrive?"

"We will help load one of the vessels," Marco said. "I've found that people doing boring but essential routine jobs tend to be practically invisible in most people's eyes. Nobody's going to remember that one of the loading crews had extra people helping." 

"Are you sure about that?"

"I am." Marco reached out to rest a reassuring hand on Jean's lower back, letting it linger there for a few seconds longer than necessary before pulling way. "Trust me, getting on board is the easy part. It's getting away before the crew notices we're there that might be a problem. I'm not sure—" 

"Oh, alright. Fine." Jean exhaled gustily while staring up at the sky, looking every bit like he suddenly lost three years and turned back into the bratty child he was at the start of training. And then, without any prompting, Jean offered (in a monotone), "I'll figure out a way to sneak off the barge without a fuss if you can actually get us on board."

A smile bloomed on Marco's face. His chest felt tight with warmth at the surprising offer because Jean wasn't actually supposed to do anything their escape, and he knew it. It wasn't the responsibility of the one being rescued to help coordinate the escape. It would perfectly understandable for Jean to sit back and leave everything in Marco's admittedly more experienced and capable hands, but he didn't. Jean really intended for them to work together like equals. Like partners. Marco glanced around quickly to make sure nobody was paying too much attention to them before leaning in and pressing a quick, grateful kiss to Jean's cheek. Jean, still so skittish and easily spooked, jerked away and turned bright red. He pressed his hand over the spot that Marco's lips touched as if such an innocent display of affection could leave behind a visible brand in Jean's flesh. 

"Wh-what was that for?!" Jean sputtered. 

Marco lifted a hand to cover his mouth in a feeble attempt to hide his expression. "I don't know. I just felt like it?" 

Jean grunted and crammed his hands in his pockets, as if his bravado could hide the redness of his cheeks and the smile that was tugging on the corners of his mouth. "Weirdo."

"I did say that I was holding back before," Marco pointed out cheerfully and reached out to take Jean's hand. 

"Sappy weirdo," Jean said with a mock glare as he stepped out of range. "Try to keep those impulses to yourself for a while, okay? The docks are right over there." He pointed down an alley. "Now go on and, I dunno, work your super spy magic or whatever and get us out of here. Save all that mushy crap for later."

Marco gave an exaggeratedly put-upon sigh. "Okay, if you think that's best." 

"I do." Jean crossed his arms. "Now shoo. I'll follow in a minute so it's not as obvious we're working together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Chapter 77. I won't lie, my first reaction (after "wow Marco's cute") was: fuck, I'm Jossed. But then I remembered that Marco was already lying about how much he remembered about how he died, so all I have to do is change a few not-yet-revealed background details and I can easily side-step the chapter. Yeah! The plan is still not derailed!
> 
> And that's why the "Canon May Joss This" tag is still attached.


	21. Chapter 21

Jean didn't know what he expected to see when he asked Marco to show off his abilities as an infiltrator. He thought that Marco would do something cool, like go breezing down to the docks, pulling on a new temporary identity as easily as he would put on a jacket, and then charming his way onto one of the barges scheduled to leave soon with trivial ease. Impressive and flashy, in other words, like the kind of things that happened in the pulp adventure novels about spies and assassins that were sometimes smuggled into the barracks and passed around. What he didn't expect to see was Marco spending around half an hour crouched by a bunch of the crates on the far side of the alley. Marco pretended to be checking the attached shipping documentation as he watched the people on the docks go about their business out of the corner of his eyes. 

It didn't take long for Marco to realize that this particular dock, which was right in the middle of Trost and one of the few that remained fully intact, was not originally intended for heavy use. Originally, barge operators probably saw this stop as nothing more than a good place to catch a nap and buy a hot meal before heading back to work. It was not designed to handle the number of people and goods currently passing through and as such, there wasn't even an official shipping office. Everyone was just bringing their paperwork to a table set up in a corner of one of outdoor decks where a very stressed-looking woman with greying blond hair was scrambling to keep up with the clerical work. The dock's security was a handful of local MPs having a very loud and boisterous conversation with some Garrison soldiers and a couple people who looked like they were private security hired by one of the shipping companies. Nobody was facing the docks or paying the least bit of attention anything that wasn't immediately in front of them. 

Marco frowned in disgust at the appalling lack of work ethic. He was even tempted to do something about it before he remembered what the current goal was, and that he wasn't alone. He was with Jean and Jean was a complete amateur. He would need Marco's guidance to make it safely onto of the barges unharmed and that meant playing things very, very safely. Marco settled for giving the guards a dirty look and making a mental note to complain if the opportunity ever presented itself later. For now, he focused on deciding which ship to target. 

Marco rose, dusted the dirt from his pants, and made his way down to commandeered restaurant deck. 

The woman with greying blond hair glanced up when he neared and said, "If you're here for a full meal, please seat yourself inside and someone will be by shortly. If you're here for baked goods, today's special is steamed bun with an egg custard filling and you can purchase them directly from the kitchen at that window over there. If you're here for the shipping office, the line-up starts waaay back there." 

"Ah. Thank you," Marco said, but the woman had already her full attention back on the papers in her hands. 

Many of the people waiting in line were eating the advertised buns, which looked so appetizing that Marco found himself drifting toward to the aforementioned sales window. He joined the crowd milling around and listened to the idle chatter as he watched a fresh tray of buns being set out for sale. It smelled even better from up close. The temptation proved to be too great to resist. Marco found himself walking away in a slight daze from the employee's masterful sales pitch, chewing on one bun while clutching with a paper bag that contained half a dozen or so more to his chest. 

He glanced nervously back at the alley where Jean was waiting. They needed more food today than a single roll split between them and a couple of hard candies, so it wasn't a frivolous purchase. And besides, Jean loved egg-based dishes. He would probably really enjoy the buns once he got to taste them. 

Waiting in line had also yielded some interesting information. 

It turned out that one of the barges arrived so late that the crew scheduled to unload and prepare it the next outgoing shipment was about to go off duty. It sounded like somebody needed to pull overtime and wait until the return trip's crew to showed up for work to tell them what still needed to be done. However, no one wanted to be that person, so one-by-one, everybody in line who was part of the day shift slipped away into the crowd and disappeared. In the end, Marco was the only one left who could pass on the message and it was as good of an excuse to be on board as any.

Thankfully, the crew was vocal enough in their complaints about the job and the barge itself that it was easy to guess which one of the docked vessels was it. Once he found it, Marco didn't allow himself to check if anyone was paying attention to him. He squared his shoulders and walked aboard like he was supposed to be there, left his things in a pile near the door to the ship's interior where it wouldn't get tripped over, and picked up the stack of papers sitting conspicuously on top of a crate. There was a lot of water damage to the sheets. It looked they were left outside during the previous day's rain storm and while most of the ink had bled or run, it was only "difficult" to read and not "impossible". Marco started sorting through the papers and putting them in order as he slowly paced the length of the ship.

"What're you doing?" 

The sheets crumpled in Marco's hands as he jumped and spun to face—

"Jean!" Marco pressed a hand to his chest in an attempt to calm his pounding heart, as he glared. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" 

"I wasn't trying to. And don't you have that weird way of telling when someone was trying to sneak up on you? How could I..." Jean's voice trailed off. "You alright there?" He touched Marco's elbow. "Did you damage something important when you hit the ground?" 

Marco self-consciously dropped his hand to his side and then, after a moment of hesitation, answered honestly. "Yes, but you don't have worry. I'm feeling much better now that I've rested and had something to eat."

Jean was not convinced by the sunny smile. 

"You know, it's not too late to take the stowaway route," he started to say, but Marco interrupted. 

"No." 

"Hey, I'm just saying that if you're too--"

"I'm injured, Jean, not an invalid." Marco softened his expression in an attempt to take the sting out of his words. "If I am healthy enough to keep an enraged Eren at bay on my own, then I am healthy enough to carry some boxes. I'm fine." 

Marco brushed his fingertips along the palm of Jean's hand -- all too aware of Jean's skittishness to risk holding it -- and turned the motion into a grab for his wrist. He slapped the stack of papers into Jean's hand and crossed his arms. 

"If you really want to help, then help me make sense of this chicken scratch."

Jean groaned inwardly when he realized that Marco was serious about doing his fake job properly. So much for being able relax somewhere warm and dry. Jean turned his attention to the papers that Marco shoved at him, reading through them and continuing to sort them while Marco wandered off to do his 'I'm too uptight and eager-to-please to be a liar' thing and win over the real crew that was coming on duty. 

At first glance, it seemed like pretty standard stuff for a city that was nearly flattened by Titans a few short weeks ago -- construction supplies, fabric, dry goods must've been collecting dust on the shelves of Sina stores that were now going to be peddled at a marked up price to people too desperate to be picky. The crates were full of the same sort of things that Jean remembered seeing on the Trainee Corps delivery receipts that he and Eren had to sort and file as punishment for starting fights. It was thanks to all those afternoons spent under the watchful and wrathful eye of Keith Shadis that Jean was able to figure out what was scrawled on the papers.

It was pretty standard and boring stuff, but one company's name kept catching his eye and Jean couldn't help but comment on it. 

"Looks like Reeves Company is doing pretty good, the price-gouging bastards."

Marco carefully set down the box he was carrying and jogged over because he recognized that tone of voice and wanted to be close enough to deal with the potential fallout. 

It wouldn't be a surprise if Jean's temper suddenly and violently exploded now that he was "safe", out from under the watchful eyes of humanity's most talented killers and in the company of someone he trusted. It was amazing that someone untrained -- a completely normal person, like Jean -- was able to handle the pressure of keeping so many secrets with potentially far-reaching consequences without breaking down sooner. A part of Marco still wished that things could go back the way they were just a few short months ago, when all he had to do to break a bad mood was to sit quietly with Jean until the younger boy cracked, but the greater part of him knew that no good would come out of dwelling on the past. The battle of Trost altered both of them in ways that could never be undone and it was long past time to accept that. 

"They are a business. At least they didn't leave town entirely like the others," Marco pointed out gently, but didn't say more than that. He always left navigating Trost and choosing where to purchase things entirely up to Jean whenever they were in town, so Marco would be free to gawk at the buildings and crowds like the country bumpkin he genuinely was. The intricacies of a big city marketplace were a complete mystery to him.

"It might've been better if they did leave, with the crap they keep pulling." Jean slapped a hand on the box he was leaning on. "Go on. I dare you to lift this thing and tell me it doesn't feel like it's mostly air."

Marco sighed, expecting to find that Jean was exaggerating for effect. It was due to that perfectly reasonable assumption that when Marco grabbed the box and lifted, he thought that it would be around the same weight as every other box off-loaded so far, and put in the proper amount of strength. And ended up nearly clocking himself in the chin. Marco staggered back, refusing to dignify Jean's rude snickering with a response, and scowled at the wooden crate as if there was a special trick to it that he somehow missed spotting. He set it down and scanned the label -- apples -- before trying again. The weight was unchanged; it was too light. After a quick shoulder check to make sure the captain and the crew weren't looking in their direction and wondering what they were doing, Marco gave the box a shake. 

And whatever was inside it, it sure didn't move or sound like it was round. 

Marco looked at Jean expectantly. 

"Hey, I don't know what's in there any more than you do. Unless..." Jean gave Marco a measured look and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you have a way to look inside without actually opening the box?"

"I'm a monster, Jean. Not a magician."

"I don't know, coming back from the dead seems like a pretty neat trick to me." Jean waved a hand in apology before Marco could utter a word of protest. "Anyway, what's inside is not important. It's just proof of how Reeves Company are bastards who're trying to scam people by selling them boxes of air at stupidly high prices." 

"Are you sure this is them?" 

"Positive. I'd know that hideous logo anywhere."

Marco hummed uncertainly and traced a finger over the ink stamped letters on the side of the crate. "I don't know, Jean, something doesn't feel right to me. Aren't they a dry goods business? Why would they start selling fresh produce all of a sudden? Where would they get it? Everyone I talked to in the market said that nobody wants be a supplier to Reeves Company anymore because they heard about what they did during the evacuation. It must come from the interior."

Jean leaned against the stack of crates and made himself comfortable. "Sounds like you just answered your own question. They bought fruit from the interior and ship it out here, but it takes so long that everything's mostly rotted away so they end up delivering boxes of air and mush." 

"But that still doesn't make sense. If the company is as mercenary as you claim, why--" 

Marco suddenly stopped speaking and stared at the shoreline with a hawk-like focus in his narrowed eyes. He stood perfectly still until -- there it was again -- a flash of colour appeared. A rich and vibrant colour that didn't suit this part of town. It was only spotted for only a split-second before it was swallowed back up by the crowd but that was long enough to identify the colour as red. Red fabric. Marco's lips pressed together into a grim line and Jean was instantly alert. 

"What is it?" 

"Let's get back to work," Marco said.

"Not until you tell me what's got you so worried," Jean hissed. "What'd you see?"

Marco bent to pick up the next crate and whispered when his mouth was next to Jean's ear: "The Scouting Legion. Keep working and don't look. They might not be here for us."

Jean nodded curtly. 

That was true, Jean told himself as he busied himself with shuffling the boxes around until they were stacked in neat cubes on the pallets. He and Marco might not be their targets. It was possible that the Scouting Legion was here to sign for pick-up of a special order. He vaguely remembered hearing Sasha say something about how the civilian staff were fed up with the quality of what the military was providing so they were starting to purchase things on their own. In secret. 

Marco could be right but it was far more likely that the soldiers he saw were trackers looking for Jean. 

Putting his cell back in order before leaving should've bought them at least one day's head start while the Scouting Legion investigated but Marco ruined that plan by being such a good study all those years ago. Eren was not very observant at the best of times, but even he wasn't blind or a total idiot. Anyone from their graduating class who saw the aerial manoeuvring of the "unknown soldier" who attacked Eren should be able to figure the attacker's identity. There were only two options and since everyone knew that Marco Bodt died in battle and was turned to ashes, there was only one person left that it could be. 

The Scouting Legion didn't need to waste time chasing Jean and his (hopefully still unidentified) accomplice all over the countryside because they knew where he would eventually turn up. Trost was the only place he could go to seek refuge so of course they could beat them here. Giving up pursuit yesterday was probably just a trick to make them drop their guard and, damn it, it worked. 

Jean was pulled free of his increasingly panicked thoughts by the loud bang of a crate being roughly tossed onto a wooden pallet for off-loading. Marco returned for another box but before he collected it, Marco dropped to his knees and out of sight. Marco dipped his hands in the rain water that had pooled in one of the many uneven bumps on the deck and gathered up enough liquid to slick his hair back against his skull. The changed hair style and cold expression and the slightly altered mannerisms when he walked away made Marco seem like a stranger – a lookalike that happened to have the same face as his friend. 

Honestly impressed by this, Jean said when he was back in earshot, "Passing yourself as a distant relative who didn't choose the military life?" 

"Thankfully," Marco said in his usual voice, "a description like 'the dark-haired one with freckles' is pretty much useless for identifying a specific person. That covers like... well, not just us Bodts, but most of the people in Jinae."

"Too bad the same can't be said here," Jean said. "There's only one Kirstein with the face of a thug and hair like this, but don't you dare start feeling bad or anything. I chose to come with you, got it? Anyway, the Scouting Legion's trackers probably haven't seen me yet so I'm going to stay below deck and find something to do until the barge leaves the dock. You should stay up here and keep an eye on things for a while, just to be safe."

Marco made a noise of agreement but his body language said that he'd much rather stay close to Jean. 

"Okay. I'll see you in a few." Jean gave Marco a light slap on the back. "The sooner this fugitive is out of sight, the safer I'll feel." 

"Wait. One thing before you go?" Marco looked like he choosing his next words carefully. "If I get..." He shook his head and started over. "If someone starts asking what you know about me, the story is that I'm from the ship's day crew and came here to tell them about the unfinished off-loading job. I'm working overtime voluntarily because I'm the kind of guy who can't stand being idle. All I told them about you is that you're a friend I haven't seen in a long time that I'm dragging along so we can catch up along the way. Nobody's asked for names yet so I haven't given them."

Jean nodded. "Got it."

"Oh, and please don't get into any trouble or do anything memorable while we're separated?" Marco pleaded. "That includes working too hard and being too lazy. We want to be forgotten the moment we're out of their sights." 

It looked like Marco well on his way to full clucking mother hen mode, so rather than provoke it by saying the wrong thing, Jean promised to behave himself and do his best to stay out of everyone's way. Jean moved his hand from where it was resting idly on Marco's back to the uninjured shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before leaving. Jean quickly scooped up their belongings from where they were sitting in a pile with everyone else's things and stepped inside the ship. 

To his immediate left were stairs that went up to the ship's bridge. Straight ahead at the end of the short hallway was the propped open door leading to a very basic kitchen and seating area. There was nothing else on this floor so Jean took the stairs down to what appeared to be the crew's main living area. Behind the door separating it from the stairwell was a long hallway with doors that led to bathrooms, storage rooms, sitting areas, and a few very cramped rooms with bunk beds. On other words, all the places that he and Marco would want to avoid because the longer that they spent socializing with the crew, easier they would be able to remember the pair's faces. 

Jean went down another floor and found the cargo and engine area. 

The exposed guts of the ship stretched out into the darkness. Their shapes continued past the furthest reaches of the lanterns hanging at irregular intervals from a low beam that ran down the centre of the hold. Only a couple were lit The majority of the illumination of the cargo hold came from the feeble beams of light that managed to push through the caked on grime on the tiny windows. Unfortunately, stacked all around the windows were piles and piles of crates and other things meant for general ship maintenance that caused large sections to fall into complete shadow. At the far end was a wall that he guessed was what separated the engine room from the cargo area. Jean examined the closest stack of crates and found it secured by rope to fixtures screwed tightly into the floor but the next nearest stack was not secured. Nor was the one after that. Or the one after that.

"Aw, shit. I wasn't expecting there to be this much actual work down here."

Jean groaned and started tidying up because he knew what would happen if Marco came down here. If Marco saw there more work to be done, injured or not, exhausted or not, he would do it even though they had no real obligation to do so. Therefore Jean, being in possession of a healthy and able body, wanted to finish as much as possible before the freckled nuisance showed up to help. 

Marco was kept busy up above and didn't actually show up until much later. It was long after Jean had panicked at being asked a question by a crew member and stupidly refused the offer of help. Jean was tired, sore, and actually sick of hearing his own voice swearing bitterly about Reeves Company's good fortune because weren't they a company that only dealt with Wall Rose business? Since when were they so successful that they could afford to ship so many half-empty boxes back and forth from Sina? He was reduced to irritable grumbling by the time Marco came clomping down the wooden stairs. 

"I bought something I think you'll really like," Marco announced and held up a familiar paper bag. 

Jean needed no convincing to drop everything and follow orders to go wash up quickly, and then come back so they could dinner eat together. When Jean returned, he saw that Marco moved from where he had originally been seated on stairs to a couple of loose boxes near the pallet Jean was working on. He took the paper bag from Marco's out-stretched hand and sat down close enough that their shoulders touched. 

"Is this from that pub or whatever it was?" Jean extracted a bun and turned the top of the bag toward Marco. "It smells nice, but shouldn't they be cold by now?"

"I borrowed the kitchen to heat them back up." Marco took one and pushed the bag away, shaking his head when Jean offered it again. "The rest are yours."

"Marco, the buns are the size of my hand and there are still three in here. You can take more. I can't eat this many on my own."

"No, I'm good. Really, Jean, I am." Marco pushed the bag away each time Jean tried to hand it over. "There were, uh, originally eight buns in that bag. So, yeah… You have the rest." 

"…Eight?" Jean glanced down, and then reached out with his free hand to prod Marco's stomach. "Where did you pack all of 'em away? Did you take glutton lessons from Sasha or something? How are you not feeling sick?"

"Jean, don't be rude."

Startled, but mostly because he wasn't sure which part Marco was taking offense to, Jean mumbled some vague nonsense in an appropriately apologetic tone and ate his meal quietly. Marco stared suspiciously for at least one minute longer before huffing and turning away as well. To be on the safe side, Jean kept his thoughts to himself when he saw Marco finishing his fifth bun of the day before Jean was even close finishing his first. 

He remembered Marco saying that his titan abilities burned through a lot of calories -- more, perhaps, than a Shifter would use for the same task. Maybe being reminded that they were so different was a sore spot? If Bodt clan Titans were so unlike Shifters, then what did that say about Titans and humans? Another species entirely? Jean was willing to bet that this subject was a much, much touchier subject than Marco was willing to admit. It seemed like telling Jean the truth about himself was an idea that was met with a lot resistance. Years' worth of resistance. Hell, there might still be people now that didn't agree with Marco's plan to recruit a human soldier with no strategic value whatsoever. 

"Aren't you going to ask about what happened?" 

Jean grabbed another bun and took a bite, chewing slowly to buy himself enough time to think of a reply. "You wouldn't be feeding me first if the news was really urgent. And you're going to tell me now, right?" 

"Yeah," he said, and took a steadying breath before continuing. "What I saw... I think I saw was someone I recognized. One of the Scouting Legion's soldiers"--He glanced up nervously--"was a woman wearing red."

Jean sucked in a breath and shook his sharply head. No. It couldn't be—Wait. Stop. Don't jump to conclusions, he told himself. Now was not the time to panic or freeze up because Marco was counting on him to get them out of this mess. Calm down and think about it. There was no reason to send Mikasa to hunt them down. Sure, it looked like Jean attacked Eren and that was a sure-fire way to motivate the best soldier the Scouting Legion got their hands on since Captain Levi was recruited, and the attack would ensure that Mikasa would actually follow orders this time, so... okay. Yeah. That was an excellent reason to send her after them. But even if there was a good chance that it really was Mikasa on the docks, there wasn't a good reason why she would be there. New recruit Jean Kirstein going missing wasn't going to do significant damage to the Scouting Legion's plans or combat power. He wasn't privy to any high level plans or strategies or research data, nor was he a combat or strategic genius. The timing of the Titan attack was suspicious but there was no evidence that it was anything but coincidental. So why send her? Why send anyone?

"Are you sure it was Mikasa?" 

"I'm not," Marco admitted, "but I am sure it was the Scouting Legion. They were talking to Garrison and the Military Police soldiers who were supposed to be patrolling, not standing around smoking and chatting with their backs to the docks. The logo is pretty hard to miss."

"I don't think they were here for me, specifically. While I did leave in a pretty dramatic way--"

"Sorry. I should've brought someone less clumsy," Marco apologized.

"--I'm far from the first Scouting Legion soldier to run away." Jean wrapped an arm around Marco's tense shoulders. "So don't beat yourself up over it anymore, okay? It worked out alright. Even if it really was her, there's no reason to think that they'd keep this hunt up for very long. I'm not important enough for the Scouting Legion to keep wasting resources on." 

Jean didn't actually believe any of the overly optimistic words he was saying. Marco, on the other hand, was the kind of person who thought best case scenarios would come to pass more often than not, even knowing just how cruel the world they both lived in truly was. It was a childish and almost painfully naive attitude to hold but in a way, it was also kind of admirable -- that stubborn faith of his in the inherent goodness of people. It was for Marco's sake that Jean spoke those stupidly hopeful words with conviction. It even looked like Marco believed it. Partially. No, not really. At the very least, Marco looked pleased that Jean made the effort and leaned into his touch.

"I think you're wrong," Marco said, "but it's not just because I'm biased. I'm saying this because of the conclusions our pursuers might jump to with the limited information they have. You escaped capture because a Titan showed up at exactly the right moment. Who else do they know of who's accomplished such a feat?" 

"You're suggesting that they think I'm the spy," Jean snarled indignantly. "I'm Annie's accomplice? But she tried to kill you!" 

"They don't know that," Marco pointed out. "All they know is that they found you in restricted areas, caught you lying during an investigation, and then you escaped from your cell with the aid of a well-timed Titan attack and another person. Any reasonable person would assume you're hiding something big."

Jean grunted, conceding the point. 

The Scouting Legion did discover Marco's 3DMG in Annie's possession but it was possible that she grabbed it off his corpse after he already died and she was innocent of that particular crime. There was no way to know what really happened that day without asking the deceased victim for a testimony. If there was solid proof then someone would've found it by now and used it to drag Annie's true accomplices out into the open. Which was what they were trying to do now that they found their "proof" in the form of Jean Kirstein.

"Um…are you going to finish that?" 

Jean stared at Marco hard enough to make him blush. "Five wasn't enough?"

"Th-that's not the reason I'm asking!" 

"Sure it's not."

"It's not! It's because... well, I guess it kind of rattled me how quickly the Scouting Legion was able to catch up?" Marco rubbed his shoulder gingerly and looked away. "I thought we had more time but it looks like we really underestimated them. I don't want to be a liability if they're waiting to ambush us and a fight breaks out. We don't have the luxury to wait for me take the time needed to heal properly. I want to—no, I am going to regrow all of my missing organs and muscles before we disembark and that requires energy that I don't currently have, so..." 

Jean surrendered the rest of his dinner. 

Marco smiled weakly. "Thank you. I'm sorry. I really did want to give all of them to you." 

Jean shrugged. He was eager to see Marco restored to full health, after all, and the guy had to know that. If making the sacrifice of giving up a few meals meant being able to look Marco in the eyes again without having the phantom scent of burning wood and rancid cooking meat lingering in the air, then it was a ridiculously small price to pay. He'd do almost anything to get reduce the potency of his nightmares. And besides, with the Scouting Legion's recent bout of bad luck and poor reputation, Jean and the others learned how to survive on very little food. The two custard buns he did manage to eat were probably more filling than what the new recruits were given throughout the day.

But Marco either didn't know that, or didn't care about the facts of the situation. 

Marco polished off the rest of the buns with such an oppressive aura of gloominess for having to take back a gift hanging over him that Jean quickly excused himself to secure the last couple pallets. Anything to get away from that bad mood. It wasn't work that actually needed to be done since the weather today was going to be good, but it was something that would keep him busy and too far away for casual conversation. 

Marco sighed and closed his eyes, stretching out on the crates like he was going to sleep, but after a couple minutes of silence, he called out: "Jean? Is there anything in these boxes that'll spoil in the heat?"

It took a seconds for him to figure out why Marco was asking. "Huh? No, it's fine to go ahead and cook 'em. There's nothing important in there" 

"Hmm...?" There was a faint scraping noise as Marco rolled onto his side to squint at nearest label, having to tilt his head to avoid blocking the dim light from the lantern hanging overhead with his shadow. "But this here says 'oranges'." 

Jean turned away. "It's probably just an old label. Trust me, none of the boxes you're lying on are food. They're too heavy and something rattles when I move them. Fruit doesn't make noise like that." 

It looked like Marco wanted to say something else --like ask Jean to act as a human blanket again, for example-- before changing his mind. He smiled and nodded. "Okay. I'm going to rest now. I'm going to be really out of it, so wake me up if you need me because I don't think I'll be able to on my own."

"Fine. Sure, now go to sleep already. I can't uphold my end of the bargain and think of a way out if you're going to keep distracting me like that." 

Marco gave a startled laugh. "Distracting you? How am I distracting you? I'm just lying here!" 

"Uh huh," Jean said flatly. " 'Just lying here', my ass. Like you don't know what that looks like!" 

"I really don't," Marco said as he mercifully rolled onto his back and lay his folded hands on his stomach. "There. Is this better?" 

"Much," Jean said, trying not to smile. "Now seriously, quit distracting me."

Marco didn't say another word. He seemed to slip from full wakefulness into the depths of his own mind between one breath and the next, leaving Jean with nothing else to focus on except his own paranoid thoughts. It didn't take long before Jean abandoned the pretence of working. He took up vigil at Marco's side, soothing himself by idly playing with the thick black hair as he stared at the tiny windows of the cargo hold and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every single time I try to set up a situation where Marco has to fight, the sneaky bastard manages to find a peaceful solution and wiggles out of it. I swear, one of these days, I'll find a way to force him to turn Titan and fight. Maybe if I put Jean in mortal peril...


End file.
